


Backbite

by Andersaur



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adultery, Alpha Sebastian, Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Breeding Program, Dating, Lonely John, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Omega Jim, Omega John, Terrorism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3895912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andersaur/pseuds/Andersaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson had signed up for the BPA breeding programme because he was dirt poor. He'd never expected to actually meet an alpha and fall in love. Unfortunately, consulting detective Sherlock Holmes is on the trail of the most puzzling terror attack England has seen in decades, and it's leading him straight to John's new and mysterious boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first sixteen chapters of this have been sitting waiting for a year, now... Maybe posting it will give me a kick to actually finish the second half.  
> Time for my rite of passage omegalock fic to begin.  
> Beta'd by the beautiful AdurnaSkulblaka.

If somebody had told John Watson twenty years ago that he’d end up joining the British Procreation Association, he’d have laughed in their face. He’d probably have laughed so hard that he’d have needed to sit down for a moment to get himself together so he could stand up and finish laughing.

In his teenage years John had thoroughly resented being born an omega. He’d presented at fifteen, and, luckily, been comfortably settled at home. Or, rather, very uncomfortably _unsettled._ Heat symptoms had been hanging over his head all week, mostly mild but sometimes more intense. His headaches had mostly been a faint, sluggish pain at the back of his head, but sometimes his nausea had gotten so bad that he’d buried his face in a textbook in the middle of a lesson and been sent to the nurse. She’d been useless, really; just sat him in a chair with a cup of water and let him wait for an hour until he felt well enough to go on to his next lesson.

He’d been an alpha – not an uncaring one, but one who always seemed to have something better to do than listen to his children complain, who wasn’t as disinterested as he was unsympathetic. The day before his first heat had started, John’s sickness had peaked and the nurse had finally given in and called his father at work so he could come and pick him up. She’d told his dad about his high temperature, his abdominal pains, and his vomiting, and told him that _in her medical opinion, John was about to have a heat._ His father had sighed, put an arm around his shoulders, and half-dragged him back to the car, the schoolbag over his own shoulder to speed the journey up a bit.

John’s dad had sat him on the sofa with a bucket, a blanket, a cup of water, and the TV remote. Then he’d left him to it, going through to the kitchen table to set up a makeshift work station with his paperwork.

“If you need anything, call me,” he’d said, and he’d meant it, but still he’d gone back to his work.

John had appreciated the thoughtfulness that his dad had left him with, he really had, but all he’d wanted to do was go to sleep. He’d tossed the remote onto the floor, curled up against the back of the sofa and pulled the blanket over his head.

When she’d gotten home, his beta mother had shown a lot more consideration, sitting down by his head and stroking his hair while she told him how lucky he was to get a few days off school. He’d scoffed and rolled back over, but later that night, when his middle had been hurting so badly and his head throbbing so heavily that he was genuinely in the belief that he only had another minute left to live, she was the one he’d woken up for help.

“Sweetheart,” she’d whispered with a sigh, rubbing her eyes and slowly sitting up. “You’re okay. I know it’s horrible, but you’re okay. Go back to bed and I’ll bring you some things.” She’d reached out a hand for him and he bent closer, letting her kiss his cheek. “Good boy. Go on.”

He’d stumbled back to bed, head spinning, and, an indeterminable amount of time later, she’d appeared at his door with a towel under one arm, a glass of water in one hand, and a box of tablets in the other. She watched him take two and then took the box back, leaving the towel over the foot of his bed. He cringed hard with the realisation that, in a few days, he’d be needing not just a towel but a whole new set of bedsheets.

“It’s only for a few days,” she reminded him softly, “and then they’ll get easier. I’ll go and get you some… some things tomorrow morning, okay?” She patted his leg as he grunted and nodded miserably. “Yes. Goodnight, love. Try and get some sleep.”

John felt that the heat had moved on and changed overnight, and he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. By the time everyone was up and around, Harry getting ready for school and his dad getting ready for work, he was on his side and desperately rubbing and tugging under the covers, face flushed bright pink with desperation and mouth bone dry from the bodily exertion. The door had opened and he’d frozen with an embarrassed gasp, but nobody spoke and nobody came in. He’d heard a plastic bag rustling in the sudden silence and then the door had closed again. With wide eyes and burning curiosity, John grabbed the towel to cover his front and ran to snatch the bag from his doorknob before barrelling back into his bed on jellied knees.

With shaking hands he pushed the edges of the bag back and looked inside, his eyes widening as they roamed the little pile of heat aids. _Dildos,_ his incredulous teenage mind supplied. His mum had bought him dildos. He glanced back towards the door and, sure that nobody was watching, grabbed the first white box he saw. There was no picture, but the words ‘Junior-Grade Heat Aid’ were clearly bolded on the front of the box along with the neutral [British Procreation Association logo](http://40.media.tumblr.com/0641a9644028299f49d2b21686db00cd/tumblr_nocvoo0lYn1ts85l3o1_400.png) – black text, the ‘BP’ lowercase and in a sans-serif font, and the ‘A’ as the typical lowercase greek symbol for _alpha_. The box was the height of his hand and three fingers wide, and it scared John to death. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from opening the top and peeking into it. The rounded tip of the bright red rod of a sex toy completely matched his cheeks as they flushed with renewed embarrassment.

He folded the box closed, dropped it back into the bag, and threw it clean under his bed like it had burnt him. His face buried in his pillow, he curled his legs underneath him and decided to be miserable and scared for a bit longer.

Half an hour later curiosity took over again (with, perhaps, a _tiny_ bit of help from desperation) and the tip of his finger made an exploratory trip up. Three minutes after that it was his whole middle finger and his front had had its first thin paint job. _Christ alive,_ did he feel better. John had refused to touch the aids for the remainder of the heat, getting by fantastically well on just his hands – which was almost embarrassing, if one ignored everything else going on.

It hadn’t lasted long, the first one. Just two full days off school in the swing, and one more to get his head together and his strength back up. By the fourth day he was back at school, headaches and nausea gone for now. He’d told all of his friends who asked that it was a stomach bug, but he knew they could smell it on him now, a new sort of sweetness that made their tongues itch. John, but not _John._ Everyone seemed to be thinking it – a couple of people even mentioned it once or twice when they’d been alone with him: he still smelt like John, but not like _John_ John.

What the hell did that even mean? His alpha friends’ scents had changed, too, but they still smelt like themselves. Sure, all the other omegas’ scents were evolving too, but… had things really been altered that much?

His second heat rolled around two months later, and the symptoms weren’t so bad that time. The heat lasted three days, and, though he’d been tempted numerous times to grab the bag under his bed, hadn’t been tempted enough after the sharp reminder of the bag’s rustling to break any of the boxes out. A step too far, he told himself. He wasn’t ready yet.

It was after the second heat that he started to really mind the alterations they were causing in his body. He hadn’t ever taken any of the warnings about _being uncomfortable with his changing body_ seriously, but soon it was becoming something that was getting harder to ignore. He’d gotten back to school on the fifth day and a pretty decent alpha boy in his Maths class had been staring. He was alright, John supposed, but they weren’t friends by any degree. He was a good-looking boy, really, being tall and with nice blonde-brown hair that always seemed to be salon-styled fresh every morning, but the crux of the matter was that John didn’t like boys. Every time he’d turned to catch him looking, the boy had blushed deeply and his head had snapped back to the board, hand scribbling furiously even when his eyes weren’t directed to his paper. John huffed a sigh and lived with it for the hour. He left as soon as they were dismissed, really not wanting to be any closer to the situation than he had to be.

Come lunch, the boy had followed him to the toilets.

“John, are you an omega?”

John had jumped at the voice and turned, with an eyeroll, to grab some paper towels. “Uh, yeah.”

“I’m an alpha.”

“I know, Brandon.”

“Can you smell it?”

John almost shuddered. To him, talking about scents seemed to far too intimate for the not-quite-friendship they had. He tossed his tissues in the bin and went for the door. “Yeah, I guess.”

Brandon swallowed and stepped into the doorway, ogling at John with eyes that didn’t seem to be able to take it all in. “John,” he said, and John couldn’t help but think he sounded… well, he sounded _weird._ “You… smell… nice.”

John’s eyes went wider than Brandon’s. “Right.” He tried to step past, but the boy put out an arm and blocked his path.

“Do I smell nice?” he asked hopefully, not seeming to understand the irritation scrawled into John’s face.

“Yeah,” John snapped dismissively. “Now will you move? I left my bag at the bench.”

“They’ve probably left it there,” Brandon said, tilting his head in the direction of said bench. “Those other ones you hang out with, they’ve probably gone. Gone to… eat. Without you.” He paused, swallowed. “I’ll eat with you.”

“Where the hell are your friends?” John frowned and grabbed Brandon’s arm, pulling it out of his way, but when he stepped past the boy grabbed the back of his jumper and pulled him back in.

“Come on, John,” he said disappointedly. “Kiss me.”

“What?” John cried, turning forcefully to try and dislodge the hands. “No way. Get off me, you prick.”

“No. Kiss me. Kiss me and you can go.” Brandon’s mind had clearly been made up, and his hands tightened again in John’s jumper as he pulled himself to stand up straight, a full two inches taller than John. He didn’t look so friendly and decent anymore.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” John ridiculed, grabbing violently at Brandon’s arms.

All of a sudden their positions changed. Brandon grabbed John’s wrists and shoved him back against the wall, pinning him there. John just froze and stared at him, a tiny bit terrified.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he growled, pulling at the hold.

Brandon dipped in and pressed his mouth against John’s, and _eurgh,_ it was all damp and squishy and John turned his face away, spitting hard. “Fuck off! Get the fuck off me!”

The mouth just dipped lower instead, pressed against his neck, and John felt him inhale deeply, even heard a faint hum of satisfaction as he breathed in John’s scent. Brandon’s hold loosened for barely a second, and John used the time he had. He lifted his knee and whacked it as hard as he could into the boy’s crotch, flooring him instantly. He turned and fled the bathroom, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, without looking back.

For a long time after that, alphas had been slimy. John went on heat suppressants as soon as he hit sixteen; he shied away from his friends and put his energy into school and sports, figuring that no alpha wanted an omega that could beat them in a fight. John got fit and he got strong and he got smart. He learnt to look after himself and in his first year at university studying medicine, he got his first real taste of beta girls, and they were... _nice_. So much more mature than the boys he knew, and that just made up his mind further: he came to the conclusion that when he was older and wanting to settle down, it’d be with a nice beta lady who wouldn’t pin him to walls and lick his neck.

In his third year of uni he met another alpha guy at a pub. Probably a student at the university, but he’d maybe been slightly too drunk to ask right then. He’d been on a pub crawl for the night with a few mates, but he hadn’t actually expected to have as much fun as he did: he left not only with the guy’s number, but also a surprise erection from a gorgeously teasing parting kiss that he had, admittedly, almost forgotten by the morning.

John had a good time with Felix, he really did. He even took things up a notch by ignoring his suppressants for a little while. They shared two blinding heats together, four and three days respectively, and they were fan-fucking-tastic. Decades later, John still remembered the first heats he’d spent with an alpha. Bloody life-changing, really. John Watson was twenty-one and, suddenly, he really damn _loved_ being an omega. For the first time, he began to consider what settling with an alpha would be like.

He and Felix hadn’t kept in touch after university, but he didn’t really mind too much. John still had a fourth year to go, unlike most of the rest of his student friends. Felix went to live his life and John kept studying, though the work got a lot easier since he’d rediscovered alphas. His playtime was suddenly much more relaxing and he hardly noticed the years it took him to become a doctor with his new pastime.

But, eventually, many years of reading books and not getting paid enough to clean up drunkards’ excrement made John a restless man. Hospitals did seem like worthwhile use of his education, but they were too easy. All the doctors had to do was pop in, call someone to clear up, and pop out again – or, at least, that was all he saw them do. He was usually the one that had to clear up. If this was way more exciting than working as a local GP then he’d clearly picked the wrong path. The puzzling thing was that he was damn sure that he hadn’t.

John found the solution to his problem over the next few years, and by the time he was twenty-seven he’d enlisted for the British Army. He’d never been more excited: life was finally going to start.

Needless to say, going to war wasn’t as he’d expected it to be. Going to war was constantly being on call and in need, and, yes, that felt good. It felt good to be needed and to be doing something that was making a difference. But going to war was also exhausting, and upsetting, and he was _thirty_ now, so wasn’t he supposed to be settling down?

Every time he’d caught himself thinking that he froze. Settling down wasn’t what he wanted – except that it kind of was. Wasn’t he getting tired? He shook himself firmly. Yes, he was getting tired, but everyone did, and he had leave soon anyway. He’d go home and be bored and itch to get back out to the sun and the dirt and saving people. He’d be bored with home, and his nightmares would come back. That was one thing he particularly liked about his job: he never slept long enough to dream.

Of course, he wasn’t allowed to stay happy. Oh, no, the universe hated him too much for that.

He got shot. Everything stopped. He was sent home. Home to therapy and physiotherapy and a rotting bedsit he couldn’t afford to keep up. He’d just turned thirty-two, and life had chewed him up, sucked him dry, and spat him out already.

BPA had been his last hope. He’d done a lot of research – a _lot_ of research – and decided that maybe it was, at the very least, worth thinking about. The Procreation Association were sort of a university campus, he supposed. From the pictures it looked just like any normal town. They accepted any single alphas and omegas between the ages of twenty and forty, it was free to sign up, and all volunteers were housed for free and received a monthly budget to cover other living costs. They had matchmaking services if you couldn’t find anyone you liked, their own date venues and day activities, even heat hotels for if you wanted to feel more safe or if you wanted to share a heat on mutual grounds.

Everything important was official, of course. Forms were required, and indications of how you were spending heats were to be given so they could monitor everything that made them a Procreation Association. They provided contraception for free because they wanted to “encourage not just a partnership, but a relationship constructed between you and your mate.”

They even had childcare facilities for a successful breeding, John saw, not that he’d be needing any of that. He skimmed: you were allowed to stay for five years after your first child was born to allow for appropriate time to save up and move away, and any volunteer who failed to procreate by the age of forty was to be taken off the programme for the sake of younger, more fertile volunteers, which, he thought, was fair enough. That was all he needed to know.

John sighed. The PA would give him free housing and money for the best part of a decade if he signed up now. He was almost drooling at the thought of finally having some money. Besides, he didn’t have to have babies, did he? He was over thirty and he was damaged goods, anyway, so he wouldn’t have too much trouble lying low and avoiding attention while he tried to keep himself alive.

Actually, that had sounded very appealing to him at the time. He could just imagine it, getting to live in a nice house for free and having money sent to him every month for doing nothing. His enthusiasm must have shown in his application, because they’d accepted him just a week after he’d applied with a congratulatory phone call. He moved in straight away.

For two years John lived in his bungalow in a friendly neighbourhood with friendly neighbours and lived a boring, miserable life. But at least he was alive, he told himself every night. At least he wasn’t dead, and that meant something.

After two years of staying alive, someone knocked on John’s door. Probably the woman next door again, he thought with a sigh. What was so difficult about _not_ throwing the ball over his god-damned hedge? He’d worked himself into a complete grump by the time he wrenched the door open, and stopped short at the tall alpha stranger that was standing on his doorstep. He was about John's age, maybe a few years younger, with short blonde hair, but what stood out most was the clean white scar running down his left cheek from the corner of his eye to the corner of his mouth.

After a beat, the man smiled uncertainly. “Hello.”

John coughed and frowned, forcing his eyes back up to the stranger's. “Can I help you?”

The stranger sniffed and looked down the street, stepping a little closer. “Yeah, uh… I… I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’m a bit lost. I need to find the administration center, I’ve got a survey they wanted back.”

Ah. Newbie. “Right, uh… It’s just…” John sighed. “Wait out here a minute, I’ll take you.”

John slammed the door shut and went to put his shoes on.

He’d told himself all the while he’d been there that he wasn’t looking to settle down, and that nobody would have been interested or wanted him. He’d told himself all the while to keep to himself and save up, because one day he’d be kicked out and, again, have nowhere to go. He'd told himself to keep away from serious relationships, because once they found out that he didn’t want kids he’d find himself homeless.

In his walk to the administration center, he and this man had gotten talking. He’d been a soldier, too – which explained the scar. A colonel, even. He’d been discharged for mental deterioration and, once he’d gotten better, not had the guts to enlist again. He told John that he still had nightmares sometimes, that he still had bad days where he couldn’t go out or talk to anyone. He told John that he’d just signed up for the PA because, finally, he thought that maybe he wanted some company. He was lonely.

John was lonely, too.

All at once, though, John wasn’t so lonely – or, rather, he saw that maybe he didn’t have to be. Maybe he didn’t have to just be ‘still alive’. Maybe he could actually start living.

With a deep breath and a nervous ball lodged in his throat, he made a decision, and now he wasn’t just John Watson, damaged goods. He wasn’t John Watson, broken soldier.

He was John Watson, and tonight he had a date.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating tags as things come back to me. Minor spoilers, but please read just so we're all on the same page with warnings. Thank you for your lovely comments on the first chapter! Commence fic...

John hadn’t been out with a man properly in ten years, give or take. The longest relationship he’d ever had with an alpha male had been the one he’d had with Felix, and that had been, what, about twelve years ago? Put like that, it sounded like he hadn’t had any sort of good relationship experience at all, (and, frankly, he was embarrassed by that fact) but he felt a bit better when he remembered that at the other side of it was what he’d done with women. He wasn’t lacking there in the least.

He’d dated the same beta girl for a year at university – she’d lived in his halls, and she’d been the first he got a real crush on as opposed to just feeling primal lust over a good rack. He’d dated another beta girl while he’d been training in his twenties, and that relationship had gone on for a few years before he’d realised he wanted to join the Army. He’d been sad to let her go, and he still remembered her fondly, but he didn’t think she’d really cared about him enough to stay faithful to him through such lengthy separations, so he’d taken some initiative and broken it off.

No, he wasn’t inexperienced in the relationship department on the whole. It had just been a while, that was all – he was a bit rusty, maybe. But this man didn’t have to know that, did he? It wasn’t recommended to talk about your exes on first dates, anyway, so hopefully they’d both be steering clear of any baggage they had. And, John reminded himself, dating a man wasn’t any different to dating a woman. Except, of course, for the obvious physical differences. And the general differentiation between taste. And the ways the two different sexes tended to prefer their compliments or affection to be given.

John sort of wished he’d had a bit more time to prepare as, suddenly, everything that could possibly go wrong with the evening washed over him. He gave a hard shiver, wiped his clammy hands on his trousers and took a few deep breaths, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. _Three Continents Watson,_ he repeated in his head, over and over. _You’re Three Continents Watson. You can get off with anybody._

The doorbell rang and he jumped.

He hadn’t been this nervous about meeting someone in years, and honestly? Well, he’d kind of missed the feeling. Wasn’t this feeling the thing that proved how interested he was, how serious he was about all of it? He hadn’t had this much feeling about any single thing since the PA saved his arse with a legally binding contract of acceptance onto the scheme and several certificates that allowed all of their money to drain into his account every month. That had been a lot of feeling. A lot of very, very good feeling.

The doorbell rang again and he jumped again. He checked his hair once more before closing the bathroom door behind him and clearing his throat.

“Hello,” Sebastian greeted, a warm smile on his face.

John found, much to his own surprise, that he couldn’t help but return the gesture. “Hi,” he said before his gaze dropped to the alpha’s hands. “Oh, come on, I specifically told you not to.”

Sebastian shrugged, grinning, and held the bottle of wine out for John to take. “Well, luckily for you I’m a fantastic guest.”

John scoffed. “That why you chose to blatantly ignore my one request? Come on in.” He stepped back, holding the door open for Sebastian to come through with a quiet thank-you. “Um, you can put your stuff anywhere, I don’t mind. There’s a coat rack right there. Oh, God, sorry – give me that, I can get it open. Kitchen’s through here.”

John finally took the wine, letting Sebastian hang his leather jacket on the hooks in the hall and then leading him through to the kitchen at the end of the house. He’d been cleaning vigorously for the whole day because he’d let things slip over the years, but it turned out that his bungalow scrubbed up pretty nicely when he put his mind to it.

“Yours is nicer than mine,” Sebastian muttered with a smile as he followed John.

“Oh, believe me, it hasn’t always been,” John admitted, rifling through a drawer for a corkscrew. “I, uh… never mind. Where abouts are you? What did you get?”

Sebastian just offered a kind smile and tucked his hands into his pockets. “I don’t really… D’you mind if we don’t talk about me?”

John remembered what he’d mentioned yesterday about being an ex-colonel, remembered how much he’d revealed about what Afghanistan had done to him and wanting company, and decided that yes, that was perfectly fair. John probably wouldn't have wanted to talk about himself, either.

“Sure,” he said, smiling and turning back to his bottle. “I, um. There’s a table booked for us at a Thai restaurant a few minutes away. We’ve got an hour until we have to be there. Is Thai okay for you?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Sebastian said immediately. “Been a while, actually, so it’ll make a nice change.”

John relaxed slightly and eased the cork out of the bottle. He laughed at it victoriously, much to Sebastian's amusement.

"Had this before?" he asked, frowning at the label as he poured two glasses.

Sebastian chuckled under his breath. "No," he admitted. "I like red, so, um. I picked one I've never had before. Thought it'd be interesting to try it with you."

"Oh," John smiled. He stood the bottle up and handed Sebastian his glass, offering his own up with a friendly, "Cheers."

"Cheers," Sebastian returned, his glass clinking against John's.

For a second, both of them took their first sips and then stared down into their glasses, trying to decide who would be the first to say it.

"It's... fruity," John decided, looking up at Sebastian. He was biting his lips hard from the inside to stop himself from laughing.

"It tastes like perfume," Sebastian said, his voice strangled. He was staring back at John with some sort of strangely twisted look on his face, and John couldn't stop himself from bursting into warm laughter.

"It's not that bad," he managed, putting his glass down and relaxing as Sebastian joined in. "It really is fruity."

"It's like a sort of... sour... pomegranate perfume." Sebastian stared at his glass like it had tried to poison him, his tongue flapping out of a twisted mouth.

John laughed harder, bending slightly to lean against the counter. Eventually his gasps relaxed a bit and he looked back up at Sebastian, a teasing smile still playing at his lips.

"It was a nice gesture,” he insisted. Then, after a second, a quiet and sheepish, “Want a beer?"

“God, yes,” Sebastian murmured in reply.

With a pleased grin, John drained the glasses down the sink and abandoned both them and the bottle on the side. “Now,” he muttered, mostly to himself, as he looked around the kitchen, “let’s play Where Did John Leave The Beer…”

“Found it,” Sebastian called straight away, smiling proudly from his position in front of the open fridge. “Sorry, I… just helping out.” He held out a can. “Pint?”

“Definitely,” John replied, accepting the drink and cracking it open. He took a long sip. “God… There really isn’t anything like a beer, is there?”

Sebastian hummed as he lowered his own can from his mouth. “Absolutely not,” he agreed, shaking his head.

“Oh, damn. Did you want to sit down?” John walked back through to the hallway.

“No, it’s fine. I mean, if you want to, then—”

“Living room’s just here. It’s a puny thing but my bedroom’s bigger. I’ve been meaning to switch them around but… well, long story short, it’s a hard job on your own. Anyway. Seat?” John waved his hand dismissively and presented Sebastian with his little sofa.

With another of his amused smiles, Sebastian walked past John and settled into the two-seater with his can. John relaxed again and sat down next to him, putting his own drink on the table.

“What time did you say the booking was for?” Sebastian asked, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Seven,” John replied. “There’s a clock just there.”

Sebastian followed his finger to the wall behind the TV. “Oh, I see. We’ve got loads of time, then. Just a few minutes’ walk, right?”

“Yep.” John nodded.

It got quiet, and then a bit more quiet, and then suddenly the few seconds of quiet were stretching out in front of John as an eternity of a lifetime alone that he suddenly very much did _not_ want at all, and shit, he had to say something, but his mind had gone blank—

“Some people call me Seb,” Sebastian said, snapping John out of his private moment of panic. He was picking at the ring of his can. “You… What I mean is, you could call me Seb. If you wanted. If that’s… more comfortable. For you.”

“Seb,” John tried out, settling back into his seat. He sighed, shaking his head. “You’re the first person I’ve ever known called Sebastian, actually, so… I guess we’ll see how it goes.”

“I’m sorry to say it, but I’ve met dozens of Johns,” Sebastian said with a smile.

“I bet you haven’t met more than I have,” John said, raising an eyebrow.

“There were two in my year in primary school, five in my year in secondary school, and... three in my college. Haven’t actually counted the ones I’ve known since then.” Sebastian gave John a challenging smile, but the other man came up blank. “Ha, yeah. I know a lot of Johns.”

“Better than…” John had to think for a moment. “Um.” He kept thinking. “Help me out here, what’s a more common name than ‘John’?”

“For me? None,” Sebastian answered with a grin. “I know more Johns than anything.”

“Way to make me feel special,” John teased.

Sebastian paused. “If it helps, none of them were military. They didn’t… know stuff that we know.”

John looked up at him. “I was teasing,” he said softly. “But… You know, Sebastian, if you ever want to talk, you have my number and you know where I live. I don’t really have much else to do.”

“I know,” Sebastian said, cracking a smile.

John made a mocking face and grabbed his drink.

The conversation got easier after that. They talked together for half an hour before John realised their drinks had been finished, and, with the argument that a can was actually only three-quarters of the pint they’d promised, went to collect two more for them. Maybe it was the alcohol that was easing things up but they seemed to settle into each others’ company so easily, talking about how John became a doctor, what Sebastian did for his A Levels, the best shortcuts for getting to the admin centre, and before John knew it he was only half finished with his drink and they had to be at the restaurant in five minutes.

“Not to burst your bubble, John, but I think we might have to leave. Like, right now,” Sebastian emphasised, pointing up at the clock.

John cursed under his breath and took another swig of his beer before standing up and leaving it behind on the table. “Right, sorry. Let’s go.”

Sebastian laughed softly and stood up, grabbing his coat from the hook. He’d kept his military-style boots on, John noticed absently.

“You kept the boots, then,” he said as they stepped outside, heading left and into town.

“Hm?” Sebastian hummed, and John nodded down to his feet. “Oh. No, they’re not the same ones. These were custom-made, actually.” He glanced down at his feet, looking at the scuffs and worn creases in the leather. They looked worn loose, but they were snug against his feet, perfectly moulded to all the curves and bumps he’d acquired over the years. “I’d always liked the boots, and none of the shop ones are quite the same, so I got a friend of mine to get these done for me. He’s always had good taste in fashion; he’s got good eyes.” Sebastian looked back up at John, and, well, he looked a bit smug.

“I’m rubbish at that stuff,” John replied, laughing it off and thinking nothing of it. “They’re long-lasting, I’ll give you that.”

“Yeah. I’ve had these for a while now.” He stuck a foot out before stepping down onto it. “Good for running, too. You know, buses and that.”

John snorted. “God, I’m too old to run for buses.”

“Too old to run for buses? No such thing, John. How old are you, anyway? Twenty-nine, thirty?”

John smiled to himself, but his face quickly clouded over. How old was _Sebastian_ to think that he was twenty-nine? He thought for a minute about lying, but that would just have been childish. “Thirty-four.”

Sebastian blinked. “Serious?”

John hummed.

“How long have you been here? I mean, if, if you don’t mind me asking.” Sebastian brought a hand out of its pocket and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Only two years. I was in Afghanistan for three, and then I lived closer into London for a couple of years, and then I came here.” John looked up at Sebastian and raised his eyebrows. “Why? How old are you? Jesus, you’re not gonna say twenty-five, are you?”

To his surprise, Sebastian’s eyebrows disappeared almost into his hairline. “Twenty-five? God, no.” He laughed. “I’m glad you think so, but… no. Twenty-nine. Thirty in about three weeks.”

John hummed a soft laugh, trying not to sound too relieved. “Ah, thirty. I was abroad for mine. Shared it with a woman on my team, actually. All the staff from the little hospital made signs and food and got all these local sweets and goodies and stuff… Mm. It was nice.”

“Sounds it,” Sebastian said, smiling. “I’m probably not doing anything for mine. I’m not really… I don’t know anybody yet, I guess.”

John had been planning on letting Sebastian say as much as he wanted to and no more, but he didn’t want the silences to get awkward. “Family?” he asked simply, no pressure either way.

“Complicated,” Sebastian replied with a good-natured smile.

“Ah,” John nodded, “I know that feeling. I know it very well.”

“I’ve got a mother with OCD,” Sebastian admitted, a playful challenge for John.

“My sister’s an alcoholic,” John returned. He’d thought about mentioning his imprisoned-for-fraud father or his dead-from-food-poisoning mother, but come to the quick conclusion that maybe those were more likely to dampen the mood. “She doesn’t really enjoy talking to brothers that ‘criticise their life choices’, apparently.”

Sebastian hummed a knowing laugh.

“I wouldn’t mind coming round for your birthday,” John mentioned.

Sebastian looked at him. “What?”

“Well. You’re a nice guy.” John blushed and continued staring at the pavement. “You’re a nice guy so far. And even if this little thing,” he gestured vaguely between them, “doesn’t work out, I don’t think anybody should be on their own on their birthday.” _And especially not someone like you,_ he thought.

“Oh,” Sebastian said, clearly caught off-guard. He cleared his throat. “No, yeah, that’d be nice. Really nice. But, I mean. It’s a long way off, you know?”

“Yeah, course. Long way. But… the offer’s there. If you want it.” John looked at him and he smiled back.

“Thanks.”

“I think we just walked past the restaurant, by the way,” John mentioned, grinning and slowing down.

“Some great guide you are,” Sebastian teased, turning and looking down the street. “Oh, I see it.”

“D’you think the house red will be worth a try?” John joked, nudging his side with his elbow.

“I thought it’d be nice, alright?” Sebastian shot back, stepping in and holding the door for John.

“I think we both need to accept that you have horrible taste in wine and be done with it.” John shrugged as he went past.

He gave his name to the usher and they were settled at a table near the back with a menu each in just under a minute. He asked for the red house wine, too, just to add some character to the meal, and then they both got to work trying to make sense of what was what on the menu. John admitted that he hadn’t actually had a Thai meal in many years, and Sebastian told him about the best things he’d tried in the restaurants he’d been to. The waiter came back and poured them a glass of wine each – and, this time, it didn’t taste too bad.

Sebastian advised John in ordering some sort of small spring roll starter and went for some satay chicken skewers for himself. Sebastian let him swap and try some of his chicken, and John returned the favour by sneaking a spring roll onto his plate. John took his own advice for the main course and managed to pick the ‘Pad Thai’ noodles for himself, while Sebastian chose some sort of stir-fried chicken dish that John had never heard of before – which, if he was being honest, wasn’t much of a surprise. They did their swapsies again, trying each other’s food (John’s was better than Sebastian’s and he’d argue it to the end of time), and, after pouring out the last of the wine and the collection of their plates, Sebastian excused himself to the gents’.

Ten minutes later, Sebastian was still excused for the gents’, and John was starting to get worried. He took another sip of his wine and glanced back in the direction of the toilets, but nothing had changed in the last few seconds and Sebastian was still gone. Things hadn’t been going that badly, had they? They hadn’t talked about how inexperienced either of them were, or either of their terrible sleeping habits, and John hadn’t gone on about anything too much, as far as he was aware.

The minutes continued to tick by – _thirteen, fifteen, eighteen, twenty_ – and John got more and more anxious, not just about being stood up but also Sebastian’s wellbeing. What if there had been someone waiting for him in the toilets, or someone had mugged him and left him for dead where nobody would find him? Or what if he _had_ stood John up, and somebody in the street had jumped him and attacked him?

He knew he was being ridiculous but he couldn’t get the thoughts out of his head. If something really had happened he knew he’d regret not going to check for the rest of his life. Besides, if he found him he could help.

Well, that was decided then. John left his coat over the back of the chair so they knew that he hadn’t made a run for it (and he made sure that all of his valuables were safe in his trouser pockets) and went to find the toilets.

“Oh, God,” John gasped, jumping as he walked straight into another man’s chest on his way towards the bathroom. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t—”

“It’s okay,” Sebastian said, amused. He put his hands on John’s upper arms, steadying him. “No harm done.

“Oh,” John breathed, finally realising who it was.

“Come on,” Sebastian laughed, turning John around and steering him back towards their table. “Sorry I took so long. I got a call from work.”

“Right. Yeah, that’s fine, I just… I was worried.” John laughed softly and flopped back into his chair. “Thought something might have happened.”

“Thought I’d left you,” Sebastian translated, and John blushed.

“No! No, of course not, you’re not—”

“John,” Sebastian said with a smile. “It’s fine. I’d have thought the same if you’d gone to the loo and not come back.”

John relaxed into his seat as he took a sip of his wine. He couldn’t help but sound slightly disappointed as he spoke again. “You don’t have to go back to work or something, do you?”

“Nope,” Sebastian said proudly. “Not working again until tomorrow afternoon, actually.”

“What is it you do, then?” John said. “We talked all about me earlier, didn’t even think to ask about you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sebastian replied, waving his hand dismissively. “I told you before, I’m not great at talking about myself. I have… sort of a mixed job. I’m basically a sort of… personal assistant.”

“You’re a PA? For whom?” John sat up a little bit, interested.

Sebastian paused, frowning hard. “It’s really hard to explain,” he said eventually. “I get paid a lot to do not a lot. It suits me.”

John smiled and glanced down into his wine, his eyebrows raised teasingly. “Sounds like it’d suit everyone. Maybe you could put in a good word for me, eh?”

Sebastian exhaled noisily, his lips puffing out. “I don’t think you’d like my boss very much,” he said. That same smug look he’d had earlier settled into the curve of his lip and the crease at his brow.

“You’re PA to a boss that doesn’t demand much and still pays you in full… sounds like a great person to me,” John said, chuckling. “But if you think he’s an arse, then I’d gladly take your job for you.”

“It’s a pretty complicated job,” Sebastian said. He took a big gulp of his wine. “I’m a lot smarter than I look, I swear.”

John scoffed. “Can’t say the same for myself, unfortunately.”

“You’re a doctor,” Sebastian pointed out, frowning.

John shrugged. “A lot of what most doctors do is common sense. If they’ve got a pain in their head, you send them to a neurologist. If they’ve got a pain in their chest, you call an ambulance.”

“Most,” Sebastian said, smiling.

“Hm?”

“You said ‘most doctors’,” he pointed out, tipping his glass towards John. “Don’t try it with me, John. You were a doctor in Afghanistan. I _know_ you’re smart.” Sebastian’s eyes caught on the back of his own hand, and he put his glass down. “Hm,” he muttered to himself, and John saw a greasy black smear transfer onto the napkin when he wiped it over the spot. “Don’t know where that came from. Tap was a bit sticky, I guess.”

John nodded with a face that said he wasn’t going to argue any more. “Right. Um, they don’t do desserts here, by the way, if you want any.”

Sebastian sighed thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t mind a coffee, but if you’ve had enough of me then tonight’s been great.”

“No, no, coffee’s… fine. Good. We’ll go and… get coffee.” John cleared his throat awkwardly and asked for the bill.

Sebastian, to his credit, did try very hard to make John let him pay, but John insisted that, seeing as he’d invited Sebastian out, he was heading the date and it was his duty to pay. Safe in the knowledge that the coffee wouldn’t cost half as much as the meal had, he agreed that Sebastian could pay for their coffees instead. And then, deliberately, he pulled the man into Starbucks with a teasing, “What, Starbucks not fancy enough for you?”

There was hardly anybody in the little cafe by the time they’d ordered, and they retreated to the sofa in the far corner with their drinks and talked. Both men had the leg closer to the other folded under them on the seat to allow them to face each other more fully, and, finally, Sebastian started to say a bit more, open up a little bit. Not a lot more, but a bit. He mentioned that his dad had been out of the picture ever since he could remember, and John tried to even the score by letting him know about his own father. He revealed that he hadn’t let anybody in his living quarters for years, ever since he’d gotten home from the war, and John told him that nobody had even _wanted_ to come into his. The troubled cloud had lifted from his face slightly with every admission John gave him to continue, and when he finally looked down and saw his mug empty, John saw Sebastian’s face stiffen a little more. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d been relaxing so much in the first place, but he noticed the guards go back up instantly.

They walked back in near silence, but it was a comfortable and companionable one that neither of them minded leaving or, occasionally, breaking. Sebastian walked with John all the way back to his from the high street, and John couldn’t help but smile as he noticed the awkward shifting and shuffling he was doing as they spoke.

“I had… a lot of fun, actually,” John said, still standing close to Sebastian.

“Yeah,” Sebastian said, smiling gently down at John. “Me too.”

“Thanks for the coffee,” John joked, swaying from foot to foot in the cool night air.

“Thanks for the booze and the meal,” Sebastian retorted, snorting.

John laughed and then paused for a few seconds. “I’m sure you’ve worked this out already, but, um, I don’t really do this. Not very often. Not anymore, I mean. But I’ve really, really enjoyed this evening. And… And I’d love to, you know, go out with you. Again. If you want to.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows twitched. “Really?”

John smiled, but his eyebrows were set in a frown. “Yes, really. I just told you, I had fun.”

“Okay,” Sebastian said.

John cleared his throat. “Right, then. I’ll call you, I guess. Or you can call me. Either way. You know. Whatever works.”

Sebastian nodded, stepping back slowly and looking far  too pleased with himself. “Whatever works,” he agreed.

“Stop looking at me like that,” John said, pointing a finger at him. “Hey, come back here. I’m not finished yet.”

“What? I just walked you home, that means it’s the end of the date,” Sebastian said, but he stepped back up to John anyway.

John, with a roll of his eyes and a sigh, looked up at Sebastian. “I forgot this,” he said simply, and then he (much to his own embarrassment) raised himself up on his toes and pressed a soft kiss to Sebastian’s cheek. “Thank you, Seb. And see you soon.”

He grinned at the dumbfounded look on the man’s face, leaving him standing like a lemon in the unkempt front garden and not caring one single bit.


	3. Chapter 3

John was running on a new lease of life since that first date with Sebastian Moran. Less and less he was waking up on the wrong side of the empty bed, or finding himself getting irrationally annoyed when he ran out of peanut butter, or having to restrain himself from telling people off more than necessary when they let their kids scream on buses. More and more he was finding it easier to get out of bed in the mornings, keep his house dust-free, and, on the particularly good days, cook a whole meal just to treat himself.

He’d started going to the gym, too. The morning after his evening with Sebastian he’d accidentally sprung out of bed with the sun at eight o’clock – it had been up, and, _finally,_ the persistent rain had cleared from the sky, so he’d cooked himself a big breakfast and sat eating it with the kitchen window open. There was still a chilly breeze in the air but bugger it, the sun was shining. After that he’d taken a long, hot shower. Perusing his stacks of plain, comfy clothes, and getting distracted by the soft little belly he was growing, the thought had just struck him out of nowhere: _Maybe I’ll go jogging._

It was only ten o’clock; he figured he could go out for an hour, take a bath, grab some lunch and then carry on his boring life doing nothing, as usual.

In the end, he’d only been able to manage half an hour of a jog before he’d had to change his route and walk home. He’d kept reminding himself for the rest of the day that it was alright, that it had been a few years, and that, most importantly, it was too soon to text Sebastian.

To his surprise, he’d checked his phone that afternoon and found a new message – from Sebastian.

_Thanks for dinner. Had a great time. SM_

John had grinned stupidly at his phone and taken his time to type out a well-thought through reply.

Me too. Are you free this weekend? JW

_Might be working, let me check. SM_

Okay. Don’t worry if you are, there’s always next week. JW

_I’m free both days. SM_

Great! I’ll get back to you soonish. JW

He’d gone jogging again the next day, and the next, in an attempt to start weaving it into his routine. Up at eight o’clock, jog until nine, and then home for a bath and some brunch. On the third day after his date he was sat in his living room, staring down at his phone in deliberation. After a long, long time, he finally bit the bullet and hit ‘Call’.

“Hello?” Sebastian answered. He was outside, somewhere windy. John could hardly hear a thing.

“Hi, it’s- it’s me, John,” John said, accidentally talking louder to make up for the background noise.

“I know,” came the reply. “Finally asking me out again?”

John scoffed. “Hey, I’m the omega. You’re supposed to ask me out – or did you miss that lesson on being a gentleman?”

“You’re a gentleman as well,” Sebastian pressed. There were a few snaps down the line. “Uh, John, this… this isn’t a great time, I’m working. Can you just hold on for a few minutes?”

John cleared his throat. Trust him to call at the worst moment. “I can call back later, if you like.”

“No, no, just hold on a few minutes, that’s all. Unless you’re busy.”

“Not at all.”

“Okay, then. Back soon.”

There was the scratchy tap of a phone being put down and then the line went still, and all John could hear was the wind. He sat back in his chair, picking at a loose thread in the cushion of his seat as the noises kept coming: first a sharp click, and then some scrapes and some more snaps.

“Hello?”

“I’m here,” John said, relieved once he heard a door close down the line and, thankfully, silence again. “What were you doing out there? Sounded like equipment. I thought you were a PA.”

“It was a tripod. The boss wanted some photos done of the London skyline,” Sebastian explained easily, followed by a quick topic change. “Um, what were we talking about?”

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to go and see a film with me this weekend,” John said, shrugging to himself.

“Go on, then,” Sebastian encouraged.

John rolled his eyes. “Do you want to go and see a film with me this weekend?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” John stuttered. “Right. Good.”

“What?”

“Nothing, I just… Nothing.”

“Of course I’ll go out with you again, John. Just tell me where and when.”

John grinned.

After he’d hung up, he counted the days and judged how much work he had to do. He had four days to tone up a little, but, somehow, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get where he wanted to be without working day and night. As a compromise, he joined the gym that afternoon.

A jog every morning and a few hours at the gym every afternoon, surprisingly, did make a difference. Not that much of a difference to what he looked like, not yet, but he was starting to feel better in himself. He had a goal in mind and he had a place to be during the day that wasn’t his bedroom. God, everything was turning around now, and he loved every second of it.

The morning of their next date, John woke up and went jogging. He was up to an hour a day, now, despite it being a strain. He liked the strain, though; it meant he was pushing himself, and he’d forgotten how good it felt to have ambition. When he got back he took a shower and, while he was picking what clothes would look the most casual but still like he was making an effort for the evening, his phone pinged.

_So sorry, John. Have to postpone this evening. Not feeling well. SM_

John frowned down at his phone. He dropped the pair of jeans in his hand and sat down on his bed, staring at the text and very determinedly _not_ feeling his heart sink in his chest. The more he looked at the message, however, the more worried he got – all invalided soldiers knew what ‘not feeling well’ meant. Sure, he could just mean that he was sick, but… well, but John needed to reply and he needed to know that Sebastian was okay.

That’s fine. Are you alright? JW

_Yes. SM_

Are you sure? JW

There was a long break after that. John actually managed to tear his eyes away from his phone long enough to put some pants on before he got the next reply.

_Yes. SM_

Well, shit. Too long, it had taken him too long, and those replies didn’t look alright to him. His number one problem now was what the hell he was supposed to do about it.

Seb, if you’re worried about bothering me, I have nothing else to do today. JW

_It’s just a bad day, John. They come and go all the time. I’m sure you know that. SM_

I do, and I know that they’re so much worse when you’re on your own. JW

_I’m okay. SM_

You don’t have to be on your own anymore. I don’t want you to be on your own anymore. JW

_Please leave it, John. SM_

Let me come over. JW

_I can’t. SM_

Then come to me. JW

_I don’t want to. SM_

I really don’t think you should be on your own, Seb. JW

John didn’t get another reply after that, and he started to worry that maybe he’d pushed a bit too hard and made things worse. He was starting to worry, now, that Sebastian preferred to be alone on these days, but surely not. John had never heard of anybody that was advised to lock themselves away when they had issues like what Sebastian’s seemed to be.

John bit his tongue and put his foot down.

Sebastian, I’m going to go and ask the centre for your address if you don’t let me do something. Please let me help. JW

And, Jesus, didn't Sebastian respond quickly to that one?

_Please don’t. Give me a bit to get ready. I’ll come over. SM_

Okay, good. Thank you. Let me know when you’re leaving. JW

John let loose a deep sigh as a solid weight eased away from his chest. His first move was to get dressed, and this time he didn’t try to look impressive. He tried to look as much of a mess as he could, because the last thing Sebastian would need was him looking so well put together while he was suffering so much. He put on his jeans and a worn t-shirt and then grabbed any cardigan to go over that, refusing to think too much about it.

The next thing he did was order a pizza. He turned on his laptop and ordered from the only website he knew, not caring about how expensive a medium-sized pizza seemed to be – a margherita one, at that – and requested it for delivery at 7pm, because he was damn determined to keep Sebastian there and well for as long as he could.

Then he went and checked the TV guide for the evening. He had Sky TV because he could afford it, not because he watched it, but, for now, the Movies subscription he didn’t know and couldn’t work out how to cancel seemed to finally be getting put to good use. One quick look through the guide later, he was satisfied that there was a wide enough range of not-too-bad films on all afternoon and well into the night (how was he supposed to know that they aired twenty-four/seven? He was practically middle-aged, for Christ’s sake) and then, only then, he made himself a cup of tea. As soon as he’d added his milk his phone buzzed in his pocket.

_I’ll be there in half an hour. SM_

I’m making sandwiches. Any requests? JW

_Not fussy. Thanks for this. SM_

It’s no problem. JW

John sank back into a chair at his kitchen table, took a sip of his tea, and burnt his entire mouth in one go. He swore and slammed his mug down on the table, hurrying to get a glass of water and some kitchen roll to sort out the varying degrees of damage around him. Leaving his tea with a time out in the corner to think about its actions, he turned instead to the fridge and perused the sandwich fillings.

There was a pounding knock on the door while John was still slicing the sandwiches, and he stood for a second in a brief panic before wiping his hands off on his trousers and going to open the door.

He couldn’t decide if Sebastian’s face was heavy with misery or fury.

“Hi, John,” he said, and he sounded tired.

“Hi,” John said, stepping back and looking Sebastian over. He looked fine physically, but something was definitely wrong everywhere else. “Come in. I’ve got food down the hall in the kitchen.”

Sebastian nodded, shrugging his leather coat off and hanging it up on the rack again. John closed the door behind him and squeezed past him in the narrow hallway to lead him down to the end of the bungalow, which opened out into a neat little kitchen.

“Here,” he said, cutting the first sandwich and sliding it onto a plate. “Just ham. Don’t know what you like, so…”

“That’s fine – more than fine. Great. Thank you,” Sebastian said, taking the plate and turning on the spot. “John?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s a cup of tea on the floor.”

John stood up straight from finishing his own lunch and followed Sebastian’s confused gaze. “Oh.” He cleared his throat and went to collect his tea, which now felt like it was erring on the more unpleasant side of lukewarm. He tipped it into the sink. “Sorry, it was…” He swallowed and turned back to his sandwich. “In time out.”

Sebastian put his plate on the table and hesitated. “Did you just say the tea was in a time out?”

“Yes. It burnt my tongue,” John reeled off, only now realising how stupid that sounded. He turned back around, however, when he heard Sebastian snort, and was met with the extremely gratifying sight of a little half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

Sebastian seemed willing to leave it at that, for which he was happy. Grabbing his sandwich, he joined his guest at the table with two glasses of juice and they both began their lunches in moderate quiet.

“I won’t make you talk about it,” John said softly, not trying to make him look up. “I won’t make you talk at all, actually. After this we’re going to go and watch some films on the telly and you’re not leaving until I think you’re feeling better.”

Sebastian just stared down at the fraction of sandwich in his hands as John spoke, but he knew he’d heard every word. Apparently happy to continue to leave it at that, as they’d been before, they did. John let it go quiet as they enjoyed their food and only broke the silence when he felt tension starting to rise, adding a quip about the food or musing aloud about what films would be on. He could only hope that Sebastian’s tense face was an immovable and impenetrable mask, because his comforts didn’t seem to be working so far.

They left their dishes on the table. John ushered Sebastian onto the sofa and physically wrapped his hand around the remote, forcing him to pick whatever film he wanted so he didn’t feel so much like he was ordering him around. In the end, settled together on the sofa, they sat through half an old western movie that John didn’t understand a single line of, a classic Bond film that he couldn’t remember the name of, and then half of the new one – Skyfall, was it? – before the doorbell rang.

John glanced up and swore at the clock. “Oh, shit. Forgot all about that. One second – no, keep it going, I’ll be right back.” He left with a smile and grabbed his wallet from his coat pocket, tipping the delivery boy before setting the pizza box on the coffee table. “See? Still got dinner and a show with you.”

Sebastian finally began to smile. “What is it?”

“Just a plain one,” John called, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with two plates and the ketchup. “Um, do you want any other condiments? Or something to drink?”

“Wouldn’t mind a beer,” he said honestly, opening up the box and breathing deeply. “Oh, God. Pizza. It’s been too long.”

John grinned to himself as he strolled into the kitchen to crack open some beers. He was feeling a lot more relaxed now that he knew he’d made the right decisions and that Sebastian seemed to be feeling better. Handing a can to his date, he took one of the plates from the table and loaded himself up with two slices of pizza.

They had to rewind the film a bit, as all the fussing over said pizza had led them to miss the majority of whatever the hell was causing _that_ pandemonium on the screen there, but in the end John had had three slices and Sebastian had had four. The was one slice left that both of them insisted they were too full for, and they left it to go cold in the box on the table.

By the time the end of the film rolled around, John was realising how small his sofa was. He’d accidentally sank right back against Sebastian – though not quite into contact with him – throughout the last half an hour, but he was too afraid to move. Things were comfortable; what if he messed up the balance and drew attention to himself? He was happy with things the way they were, all warm and soft and, _Lord,_ maybe he shouldn’t have had the beer. He sighed, closing his eyes for a minute.

He heard some faint rustling as Sebastian turned his head. John felt the bright blue eyes staring right down over his hair where he was centimetres away from leaning his own head right against an unfamiliar shoulder.

The TV turned off. John’s eyes snapped open. He blinked a few times, nice and hard, and then pushed himself to sit up, brushing the situation off by sitting forward under the guise of putting his beer can on the table. He stretched his hands above his head with a faint groan and then rubbed his cheek, looking over the mess on the table.

“Had enough?” he asked, smiling at Seb.

Sebastian hummed, nodding tiredly. His eyes never seemed to leave John’s. After a moment of silence, he spoke again. “Thanks, John.”

“You’re welcome.” John sat back again, staring at the clock. It was almost half past eight, apparently. Where had the time gone?

“These two days,” Sebastian began, breaking John from his thoughts, “the only two days I’ve seen you, and, let me tell you… I’ve really had a great time. Both times. This time, it’s been… a great time.”

“I didn’t do much,” John reminded him, feeling the need to even out the score a bit. “TV and pizza. I made you a sandwich, I guess that was the most work I did.”

“No, not just that, the company,” Seb pressed, sliding his hand into John’s and squeezing. “You were right. It’s easier having someone here.”

John looked at Sebastian. The clouds from earlier had cleared, and his stony expression had given way to a softer one. He looked almost happy, but mostly just hopeful. “I…” God. He didn’t have a single thing to say. “Yeah.”

Sebastian noticed his spluttering, and the corner of his mouth perked, again, into a little half-smile. “I like you, John,” he admitted, eyes roaming his face. “You’re smart, funny, good company. And you know how to… _be_. Does that even make sense?” He snorted. “Guess not, but you just do, so accept it.”

John was blushing all over. Right down to his bloody toes, if his medical knowledge served him correctly. “Thanks,” he said again, his voice croaky and, for the first time in decades, shy. He looked down at where their hands were clasped together and gave Sebastian’s a squeeze, rubbing his fingers back and forth to get to know them a little better. “You’re the only one to stand me for longer than a few minutes in years, so I guess I kind of like you, too.”

“Arse,” Sebastian muttered, grinning properly now, just like he had last time they’d met. John laughed softly.

Suddenly, they were a lot closer than John had thought they were. He could feel the side of a thigh on the back of his hand, and feel the back of a hand on the side of his thigh. Sebastian was bigger than him even sat down, but their faces were so very nearly level, and they were so close. This was only the second time they’d met, he realised. Second time. He thought that maybe he was really starting to feel something for Sebastian – he enjoyed his company, and looked forward to their meetings each time they were organised – but he couldn’t be sure. Nobody was ever _sure._

He didn’t let himself think anymore, scared that he’d end up ruining whatever was happening here. Here and now, that was where he needed to be. Here, where Sebastian’s thumb was pulling away from his hand and very gently grazing the outside of his thigh, here, where Sebastian’s beautiful blue eyes were fixed onto his own, here, where Sebastian’s lips were getting closer still to his. Here, where Sebastian was.

John first closed his eyes and then closed the distance. He pressed his mouth to Sebastian’s, gently at first. They got to know each other with soft lips and shy kisses, all of them tentative but none of them the least bit unwilling.

And yet, all the while, something was trying very hard to distract John. Now that he was this close he could smell it on this Colonel, something different. He was an alpha, that much was obvious, but he was something else, too.

Before he could be stupid enough to take a deeply embarrassing inhale through his nose, he finished their kiss and pulled back. Sebastian had issues. Today had been a bad day. It was none of John’s business.

His face moved away but Sebastian’s stayed where it was, his breathing slightly heavier and his cheeks tinged a sweet pink. John couldn’t help but smile, and he leaned in to press a closing peck to Sebastian’s mouth.

“I like you, too.”

That night, not long after their kiss, John closed the door and fell into his own romance movie. He stood back against it to relive their last few minutes again and again, eyes closed, head tilted back against the door, that stupid, goofy grin back on his face. He even let himself stay there for a good few minutes instead of the seconds he’d meant to, but, soon enough, he was forced to open his eyes and return to the lonely, sans-Sebastian version of his little bungalow again. With a deep sigh and a troubled rub at his confused nose, he stepped into the living room to clear away the remainders of his and Sebastian’s second date.


	4. Chapter 4

John kept up his vigorous gym routine, Sebastian in mind – and phone – the whole time. With nothing else to do during the day (honestly, he was a little bit scared of getting a job, because he was already very financially comfortable, and what would he do with the extra money, anyway?) he hit at the machines hard, especially the treadmill. He got to know some people at the gym, too, which was strange to him; the idea that maybe he could, sometime, be part of his own circle of friends, go out and do things with them, have _fun_ with them, was strange.

But, if he was being really obtuse and thinking really far ahead, he thought that a group of friends would be good for Sebastian, too. Maybe once John had established himself with a couple of people he could ask them out, bring Sebastian along. It’d be good for both of them to have some real company aside from each other because, as much as John hated to think about it, what if they came to hate each other in a few months, weeks, days? All it could take was a little clash of opinion and both of them would be alone again. This early on, John wouldn’t have been surprised.

Yes, it would be good for both of them to have some people to talk to outside of the sort of partnership they had going on.

Recognising the regulars didn’t just play its part on John’s social life, though. It also found its way to helping him, as well as the working out did, with his physical health. Right now, John’s motivation was feeding itself. He was so glad to finally feel like he had his life on track again that regular exercise didn’t seem so much as a chore yet as it did a treat, but he knew there would come a time, possibly very soon, that he’d begin to struggle to find the energy to get out of bed in the morning or drag himself all the way to the gym after lunch. For those times when he got lazy he was reserving the motivation he found in his new acquaintances, and the determination he felt roaring in his chest when he saw men that were older than him in much better condition, because _damn it,_ he could _do that._

Admittedly, there was also the motivation he felt when he thought of Sebastian. The same determination rose when he thought about what the man’s lean body might look like under his layers of thick leather and thin t-shirts, but mostly, when he thought about Seb, he just thought about what he’d see when he looked back at John. Did John want him to see the years he’d spent letting himself off? Did he want him to see the lazy turn his life had taken since he’d been allowed the luxury and comfort of the BPA? Did he want him, of all things, to see the _belly?_

No, he didn’t, and it was as simple as that. He was doing it to get healthy, get equal, and, mostly, impress Sebastian when the time finally came.

When the time would come, John had no idea. He hadn’t gone into the last evening they’d spent together with the intention of kissing him. He hadn’t thought about it at all, really, and that was the way it was supposed to be, right? It was supposed to feel spontaneous, maybe a bit heated. Things were moving more quickly than he’d thought they would but that wasn’t a bad thing. He was enjoying it.

He didn’t, though, expect to be showing off his newly toned abdominals to Sebastian any time soon. Certainly not in the next week, not unless they saw a bit more of each other. They’d only known each other a week.

The thought of Sebastian’s birthday in just two weeks’ time had briefly crossed John’s mind, and while he’d been running to an absent beat on the treadmill he’d let himself wander a little over the edges of the thought, musing about where he might take him, what they might do, and then _who_ they might—

And then he’d stopped himself and upped his speed in a desperate attempt to keep himself on task.

They’d been texting, though, the two of them. John texted him when he got bored, and sometimes he found a text from Sebastian when he checked his phone on his way home during the evening.

_Fish and chips tonight. Jealous? SM_

_Road Wars is on, John. You watched it yet? SM_

_You’re always such a busy little bee, hm? Something I’m missing? SM_

They made John smile every time and he always replied to every single one. Sometimes he got calls from Sebastian while he was eating breakfast, too. Sometimes he complained about the ridiculous task his boss was having him do next, and sometimes he was just bored, but John was beginning to get used to having a person on the other end of the phone. He was liking having someone there to talk to. The best part by far, though, was that Sebastian spoke to him as much as he spoke to Sebastian. He rarely felt like he was attention-seeking or bothering him.

A few days of pondering the infamous little boundary in his head that he was very closely skirting, he began to realise what the boundary was. It was sex, he’d known for a while that it was sex – sex with Sebastian, if he was thinking about it too much – but he hadn’t really stopped thinking about that since he’d turned fifteen. No, this boundary represented something much more important to the act of sex itself: John’s libido.

He was showering one evening. Nothing was very different, really. He was thinking about Sebastian, as usual, patting his stomach, as usual, scrubbing his hair, as usual, when suddenly he found himself thinking a little bit more about Sebastian. And, well, he was at home this time, in the shower, so why _shouldn’t_ he let his mind have a little wander for a change? He closed his eyes and stripped Sebastian down in his head, imagining the perfectly defined abs and strong biceps he expected to find there one day. Then he skipped down and went from the legs up, comparing his to the long, lean ones he could see in his head. As he glanced down at his own soft legs, though, he found that his little friend had lifted its head, finally saying hello for the first time in a really _very_ embarrassing length of time.

He didn’t really know what to do at first. He was in a state of slight shock as he stared down at his own penis, finally seeing the top half instead of the bottom that he usually did.

There was a quick moral debate in his head, one that even he couldn’t keep up with entirely, regarding whether or not he was _allowed_ to react like this to Sebastian yet and whether or not, if it _was_ allowed, he was allowed to do anything with said reaction. Half a second later he’d decided that, yes, he _was_ allowed to do something about it, because Jesus fucking Christ, it had been literal years since his last enthusiastic wank and even more years since his cock had shown an interest before his hand. So shoot him; he was damn well going to take advantage of this occasion.

A dry towel, soft pyjamas, and comfy bed seemed too far away right now. He didn’t trust his interest to sustain itself for that long, so he gently reached down and wrapped his hand around himself right then and there, suds of foamy shampoo still dripping off his fingers and running down the back of his neck. He gave a gentle squeeze and all of his breath left him in a heavy sigh of satisfaction. Eyes still open, still staring down at himself, John slowly brought his hand up to the tip of his cock, almost testing the waters. A faint hum rose from his chest and yes, God, yes, he was definitely going to start doing this again as soon as he could.

He closed his eyes and rested his arm against the cold tiles to keep himself steady, and then slid his hand back down and up again, quickly picking himself a rhythm. _Easy,_ he told himself as he felt his neck begin to burn already. _Take your time, John… Savour it._

He was alone in his shower in a little bungalow in the corner of a breeding facility, and he was having to tell himself to savour this bloody wank because he didn’t know when he’d be lucky enough to get another. God, he upset himself, he really did.

Vigour renewed, he started moving his hand faster and getting a more normal pace worked up. His breathing got even heavier, some low grunts and groans were beginning to escape with each exhale as he thought about a tall, blonde alpha that he refused to name. The alpha was sliding his hands around his waist, dropping his hands down, one cupping John’s bum and the other his balls. His hands were all over John’s groin, every part of them – God knew how many hands this imaginary alpha had, because they were rubbing up all of John’s old favourite spots and this was the best he’d felt in _so long_ and he was gone in less than a minute, spunk shooting straight across from him and landing with a few undignified splashes in the puddle at his feet.

He’d forgotten how good it felt, how utterly complete and satisfied a good wank could leave him. He slid his hand up and down a few more times in the vague hopes of prolonging his pleasure, but soon it had dwindled and he felt much more comfortable with his hands by his sides, just breathing in the wet steam and feeling the last hot pulses of pleasure through his body.

Well, he’d definitely be doing that again as soon as possible.

Spent, he rinsed the last of the watery suds from his hair and dragged himself from the shower. He dried himself half-heartedly and pulled on the worn pyjama bottoms resting at the foot of his bed, curling up on his side after he’d turned off the lamp. He’d had a tiring day at the gym – he’d hit a new record with his jogging distance on the treadmill. After that, though, the surprise in the shower had settled a warm, heavy buzz deep in his bones; he settled in his bed with a faint smile on his lips. He was dozing, snoozing, and then sleeping in minutes.

Some time in the middle of the night he woke up choking. It was pitch black, not a single light anywhere, not even the usual dim glow of next door’s garden lantern shining over the little fence and in through his window. He couldn’t see a thing. Maybe his eyes were closed, but, try as he might, he couldn’t get them more open than they were right then. He was lying there in his bed, tongue and lips dry as powder, choking on nothing until, yes, there, the sand was finally coming up. He spat it out, spewed it all over his bare mattress, until there wasn’t a grain left between his teeth, and then his attention was pulled to his toes: they were cold. He put a blind hand down next to him to pull his duvet from the floor and, in the sudden dim light, could see that he’d pulled up a man instead.

The cold barrel of a heavy gun somehow knocked his hand and he tried to scream and let someone know that there was an assassin in his bedroom, that he needed help, that he was _under attack_ , but his tongue was battling a sandpit again and all he could do was drop the collar of this man’s shirt and run.

He scrambled across and around the bed, racing for the doorway because it was light now, and all he could do in his own defence was open doors to block the hall from the assailant biting at his heels and shooting at him. Darts from his gun caught in the doors, three in each, perfectly aligned with John’s head, but he kept his back to them, kept running. His feet stuck like velcro to the carpet as he dragged himself through his bungalow, but eventually he found the living room and Sebastian, settled on a stool in front of the silent TV, didn’t seem to be aware of or care about any of what was happening. John’s heart was in his mouth as he heard the gun go off again, closer this time. He could feel every pulse of it through the dry pile of sand left under his tongue and he could hardly hear for the blood whooshing through his ears and eyes. His stomach was tight, screeching at him to keep going, and he dived for the one hiding place that he had in the room: Sebastian.

He dropped to his elbows and knees and crouched behind the stool, the sniper and the gun following his every movement. He turned the alpha’s stool around to cover himself better, Sebastian’s broad back between the attacker and he. Even with his hands over his ears and his eyes firmly scrunched closed, John saw the tips of three red darts sticking through and out of Sebastian’s back, centimetres away from his eyes and his empty, gaping mouth.

John awoke for real with a desperate gasp. He sat bolt upright, covers clutched around his knees, and panted trembling breaths. His hands were shaking the worst they ever had but still he reached out and fumbled for his lamp. It felt like the switch was twice as stiff as usual as his tired fingers struggled, but he managed eventually, and as soon as the light was on he checked every empty corner of his bedroom. He checked the floor next to him, and, after a deep breath, the floor on the other side of the double bed, too, just in case. When he was satisfied that there wasn’t a sniper out to get him he let himself fall back on his pillows, cover his face with his hands, and cry as quietly and without fuss as he could manage.

His knees were still jelly a few minutes later. He sat up, a ball of tissues in his hands for those stray tears that he couldn’t swallow, and eased his way into the kitchen by the comforting light of his phone, turning all the lights on all the way through the bungalow. His mouth was dry as a bone and he thought that maybe a drink would help him gather his thoughts back together again. Half a cup of water safely in his hand, he kept the lights on and crept back into his bedroom. Once he was back under his covers he wiped his cheeks again and grabbed his phone.

You awake? JW

No, of course Sebastian wasn’t awake, not at… three o’clock in the morning, but he needed to feel like there was someone out there that cared. He’d been there for Sebastian, and now he needed someone to be there for him. That was fair. Wasn’t that fair?

Only, well, the world didn’t seem to be in a very fair mood, because he didn’t get a reply. He scrolled through his contacts: _Admin Dept., Dad, Harry, Health Dept., Home, Home Dept., Me, One Hotel, Sebastian, Taste of East._ The only contacts he had were the three most important numbers for the PA campus, his father and sister (neither of whom he’d spoken to for years – actually, he thought his dad had changed his number), himself (twice, home and mobile, just in case he forgot how much of a pathetic loner he was), the number for an emergency heat hotel, Sebastian, and a decent Chinese takeaway.

There wasn’t a single other person in the world for him right then. His tears sprang back anew and this time he didn’t stop them.

Half an hour later, when he was finally settled back into an exhausted, crusty-faced doze, his phone vibrated. He was dragged, mentally kicking and screaming, back into this too-bright room at this stupid hour of night. He had half a mind to turn over, slam the light off, and go back to sleep, but when he closed his eyes the sharp silver tips of those darts flew straight through Sebastian’s body at him all over again and he changed his mind, grabbing his phone.

_Am now. What’s wrong? SM_

John sighed in relief. At least he didn’t have to be scared on his own anymore.

Did I wake you? JW

_Nope. Called into work. What’s wrong, John? SM_

Nothing, I just can’t sleep. Are you alright? Why are you going to work at four o’clock in the morning? JW

_I’m fine. Boss is going away for a few days, needs a lift to the airport. Did something happen? SM_

Bad dream. I’m okay. JW

_Same way that I was okay last time? SM_

Little bit. JW

_God. I’m sorry, John, but I can’t come over. I’m already late. SM_

No, God, no. Don’t come over. It’s okay, I’ll be fine. Just don’t really want to go back to sleep yet. JW

_Do you want to talk about it? SM_

No. JW

_Okay. SM_

John swallowed. He hoped he hadn’t sounded rude. He left it a few minutes and Sebastian didn’t say anything else. He’d sounded rude, hadn’t he? An apology made its way from his hands to his phone’s screen and then deleted itself. It was rewritten before his eyes, and then disappeared again. Just as its third version was coming to life another message came through.

_I won’t make you talk to me, John, but you should know that I might understand. I’d never tell anyone and you have nothing to be ashamed of, and if you ever need to talk to anybody about anything, you can talk to me. SM_

John started crying again. That was the problem with four o’clock in the morning, it was a delicate time for everyone. He couldn’t count the amount of times he’d been woken up at four o’clock because of patients or soldiers or animals, whether they were crying, dreaming, demanding attention. Four o’clock seemed to be the low point, and he was definitely having his own right now.

Thanks. Really, thank you. I know. JW

_You tell me if you need anything. I’ll have my phone on loud. Boss is away, remember, so I’m free every day from now until after the weekend. Don’t have to worry about bothering me. SM_

Of course I do – you still need sleep. If I’d woken you up tonight I’d have stopped messaging. JW

_Not gonna lie, I don’t really get much sleep anyway. SM_

Oh? Why’s that? JW

_Same reason you don’t, I daresay. SM_

I get sleep. JW

_I didn’t say you didn’t get /any/ sleep. SM_

Such a little smartarse all the time, aren’t you? Not going to argue with you now. I’m passing out. JW

_Go to sleep. You’ll be okay. SM_

Probably. JW

_Call me. SM_

Probably. JW

_Oh, calm down, there. Someone might think you actually /want/ to. SM_

Sorry, I do. Sorry. I’m just tired. JW

_I was joking. It’s fine. Go to sleep. SM_

Way ahead of you. JW

_Doesn’t seem like it. SM_

_John? SM_

_You better be asleep. SM_

_I’m going to wake you up soon, aren’t I? Sorry. SM_

_Sleep well. SM x_


	5. Chapter 5

After his nightmare, John had gotten back to sleep and managed to get a good few more hours in. He rolled over the next morning with his mouth bone dry and his head bunged up. He opened his eyes and blinked hard to pull the world into focus before checking all the corners and the floor again. The dream was miles away from him now, and he only remembered a vague suggestion of the terror he’d been subjected to the night before, but his twisted stomach relaxed slightly when he saw his bedroom empty.

He’d never expected to be relieved that there wasn’t a tall stranger in his bedroom, to be honest, but life had its ups and downs.

With a flop back down against his pillows, he rubbed his eyes and gave himself a bit of time to wake up properly. Then he finally looked at the clock on his bedside table and his eyes widened with shock. It was only half past nine, but for a man who usually woke up between half seven and eight every morning it was a bit of a surprise. He sat up and got out of bed (tucked the sheets back in behind him, because he hated feeling like he was going to bed in messy sheets) to open the curtains and check the sky. Blue sky, bit of sun. Probably freezing outside but he was safe and warm with the glass acting as a barrier between him and the bitter winds.

John decided against a jog that morning. He wouldn’t have time, he didn’t think. Instead, he went to the shower and gave himself a good scrub down to dislodge all of the cold sweat of the night before off his skin, and because he wasn’t jogging, it gave him twice as long to enjoy the hot water melting the stress-induced tension from his muscles. His shoulder, previously (expectably) stiff and tight, relaxed under the heat of the water. His legs, slightly weak from the slow wake-up, found their strength. His face, tensed, was washed, the dried tears and sleep from the night before spiralling down the drain.

He got out of the shower feeling like a new man. As he dried himself down he decided that maybe one day off a week from a jog was a good idea; it’d give him time to step back and relax after the taxing schedule he worked all the rest of the days.

He wasn’t hungry enough to eat, but with a couple of hours to spare until he packed a bag and headed to the gym, he sank back into the sofa for some catch-up TV time with the mighty Stephen Fry. Just half an hour into his first recorded episode, however, his doorbell rang. He looked at the clock: eleven o’clock, more or less. Eleven o’clock on a Thursday… post, maybe? John snorted: he didn’t get any post, not even bills.

He paused the TV and went to answer the door.

“Oh,” he said, pleasantly surprised at the visitor that had come knocking.

“Morning,” Sebastian grinned. He held up the carrier bag in each hand, looking strained. “Mind if I come in?”

“Yeah,” John nodded, shaking his head. “Sorry, yes, come in. Hi.” He closed the door behind Sebastian, who started heading straight through the hall and onto the kitchen. “Did we plan something for today?”

Sebastian peeked into the living room, noticing the telly. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt. Uh, what? Plans? No, I don’t think so. This is a surprise visit.”

“Oh, I’d noticed.” John chuckled. “Um… What’s in the bags?”

Sebastian hard started unpacking them over the table: ice cream, pasta, tinned tomatoes. “Dinner,” he answered, scrunching up the empty bag and shoving it into his jacket pocket before starting on the second. “Sorry, I didn’t know what you’d have in so I just bought everything. Could you fridge that stuff?”

“Um, sure,” John replied, grabbing the ice cream. “Surprise romantic dinner, then?”

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Sebastian admitted, smiling up at John as he pulled out some vegetables and snacks. “You weren’t feeling great last night, so… got here as soon as I could.”

John hesitated a second. He closed the freezer door on the ice cream and then made his way over to Sebastian, sliding a hand across his lower back in a half-hug. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “You didn’t have to.”

Sebastian paused in his unpacking and looked at John, smiling just a little bit. “Of course I did,” he replied, and then he gave John a soft kiss on the cheek. _“Silly Seb,_ I hear you say. _Dinner’s not for ages!_ Well, John, don’t you worry. I’ve brought entertainment.” With a big, proud grin, Sebastian pulled three comedy DVDs from the bag. He glanced down at them. “Stand-up and two films. Don’t know what you like so they’re all different.” He cleared his throat. “That’s all I’ve got.”

John laughed. As if by magic, every thought he’d had of hitting the gym that day flew out of the metaphorical window. “I love everything,” he answered, blushing slightly at the attention as he smiled. “Honestly, anything. I’ve got a very broad sense of humour.”

“Fantastic.” Sebastian beamed at him. He transferred the boxes to one hand and used the other to shove two packs of snacks into John’s front. “Take these. We’re gonna cheer you up.”

“I’m already cheered up!” John answered honestly, but he turned around and made his way into the living room with his armful of snacks anyway.

“Compared to how cheered up you’ll be by tonight, you are definitely looking a bit blue,” Sebastian argued, smacking a hand down on John’s shoulder and rubbing affectionately with his thumb. “Here, you’re gonna have to put these on. I can’t work the damn DVD players in these places.”

“I’ve never even attempted to,” John admitted, but he took the DVDs anyway. “Everything I need is recorded on my box, but I’ll give it a try.”

Ten minutes of fiddling, off-and-on-agains, and plugging and unplugging later, the menu finally came up on John’s TV. They cheered together at their joint success, and then realised they didn’t have a clue where the DVD remote was. A while was spent searching for that one to no avail, and eventually John just had to sit in front of the television stand and press buttons until the comedian appeared on his telly. Another small cheer and he retreated back to his sofa to settle against Sebastian’s side.

“Oh,” John breathed, leaning forwards again. “You can take your jacket off. Sorry.”

“Mm. Completely forgot. One second.” Sebastian put the packs of crisps down and pulled his jacket off, leaving it folded over the arm of the sofa. Then he put his arm out. “Come on.”

John, a tiny little smile playing at the corner of his mouth, turned and leaned back against him. Sebastian’s arm curled around his shoulder, hugging him close, and he sighed happily. His eyes closed, just for a moment. It had been so long since he’d been held like this. Sebastian’s body was warm and John could feel that he was almost entirely solid muscle, but somehow it wasn’t uncomfortable or embarrassing. It was just safe.

They watched the stand-up DVD first. The guy on screen was one of John’s favourites, as it happened, and he thought he recognised a couple of the gags but, by far, not enough to remember them completely. He was snorting with laughter in minutes, and an hour and a half later he had a stitch in his side that rose again every few seconds. John could feel Sebastian’s chest trembling behind him with every giggle, and he was basking in the close company and the feel of another human in his life, finally.

They watched the credits with heavy breathing, still recovering from the final joke.

“He’s one of my favourites,” John admitted, rubbing his eyes. The family bag of crisps in his lap was half empty.

“That’s lucky,” Sebastian commented with a sigh. “God, I’m tired now. Mind if I open the curtains?”

“No, go ahead.” John leaned forwards and moved away. “I’m going to get some drinks. Fancy anything?”

“Mm, whatever you want.”

When John got back in the room was bright with the early afternoon sun. He put the two glasses of water down on the table and knelt, glancing over the other two boxes. “That’s a bit better. Uh, what next? Four Lions or Brüno?”

“I really don’t mind.” Sebastian started poking at buttons on the DVD player. “How do you—oh, got it.”

He handed the disk over to John, who swapped it with Four Lions and then returned to the sofa.

“You know what I’ve got, actually?” John said, shuffling over to make room for Sebastian. “Liar Liar’s recorded on the box there.”

Sebastian nodded. “That’s a pretty good one. Maybe we should save Brüno for after dinner – I mean, if you wouldn’t mind me staying that long.”

John pecked his cheek before he settled down. “You can stay as long as you like. Tell me if you get hungry, by the way.”

“I think I’ll be alright. Got my snacks, haven’t I?” Sebastian grabbed a crisp from the bag and held it up for John, who opened his mouth for it with a small laugh.

John hadn’t ever seen Four Lions before. It was painful, really, and at half two, when the grim ending finally gave way to the credits, he was relieved. It was a sensitive topic for everyone, and he’d felt like he was sitting on a stone for an hour and a half, but, well, he had to admit, he’d laughed almost all the way through.

“And that one’s one of _my_ favourites,” Sebastian said, biting his lip. “It’s awful, it really is, but… I just can’t not laugh.”

“I know what you mean.” John sighed. “Ugh. I’m not ready to get up yet.”

“Too bad. You’re the only one that’s allowed to work your TV.” Sebastian started shaking his arm, jogging John in his place.

“God,” John groaned, tipping his head back onto Sebastian’s arm and closing his eyes. “Can’t we have a toilet break first? I need a cup of tea.”

“And I’ll have a coffee. Thanks for offering.” Sebastian kissed his cheek.

John made a face at him and then dragged himself up. First he went to the bathroom and then he met Sebastian in the kitchen to make their drinks – John his tea and Sebastian his black coffee.

“What are you making me for dinner, then?” John asked, consciously waiting a while before taking the first sip of his tea.

“You saw the ingredients. Guess.” Sebastian blew on his drink where he sat at the kitchen table.

“Spaghetti bolognese,” he said, eyes narrowed.

Sebastian nodded, smiling. “Bingo. What could possibly have given it away?”

“Well, the spaghetti was my first clue,” John chuckled, and he went to sit opposite Sebastian. Their feet joined under the table, Sebastian’s longer legs making up for John’s shorter ones.

They chattered mindlessly for a while. John completely forgot about his bad night and all of the negative residue it had left in him that morning, and Sebastian wasn’t going to remind him. They chatted for half an hour until they finished their drinks, and then John put the mugs in the sink and went to find the next film while Sebastian had his own loo break.

By mid-afternoon they were utterly refreshed and settled back for a third film, John once again tucked into Sebastian’s side. Only this time Sebastian’s hand was holding his head instead of his shoulder, and John felt so much closer to him. It was impossible for him to ignore the strong alpha scent lingering around him, and John tried his best not to very obviously breathe it in. He couldn’t help but enjoy the smell of an alpha so close to him, making him feel better, enjoying his company. All along, though, there was that distraction in the scent. Something impossible for John to place but there and _different_ all the same. Not unpleasant, not that sort of different, but… different.

Perhaps that was just his scent.

Liar Liar lasted them until five o’clock. The room was dimming with the sun but it wasn’t quite dark enough to require the lights yet, and they lingered again as the credits began to roll, entirely comfortable with each other. John’s eyes were closed and there was a smile on his lips. He only realised when Sebastian kissed the cheek that wasn’t facing him that his face was tucked right into his neck. There was another soft kiss on his cheek, and then another just below it, and then a delicate trail of little kisses had been started down his jaw.

John, eyes still closed, felt the remote until he could mute the TV and then turned his head up until Sebastian’s lips pressed to his. It was slow, intimate, the exchange going on between them. The kisses were simple until John opened his mouth, and even then Sebastian didn’t force them on, didn’t try and get his tongue in. John was just enjoying his company, and he didn’t doubt that Sebastian felt the same. Large, warm hands ran around his sides and onto his back, rubbing gently and holding him firm.

He broke away after a few minutes, eyes finally opening as he placed a final, sealing kiss on Sebastian’s lips. “Dinner,” he reminded him regretfully.

Sebastian hummed, frowning and keeping his eyes closed. “Kissing,” he argued weakly.

John, grinning, kissed him again. _“Dinner,”_ he said more firmly.

Sebastian sighed and opened one eye. “Spoilsport.”

“Someone has to be.”

Sebastian eased one more kiss to John’s mouth and then pulled himself up, his hand sliding up John’s back, over his shoulder, down his arm, and into his hand to pull him up, too. “Leave the snacks, we’ve got another film later.”

John complied.

Dinner was a ridiculous affair. All of it, from preparation to eating to cleaning up, was ridiculous. They considered themselves alright chefs, on the whole, but apparently that only applied when they were on their own. Together they managed to get tomato sauce all over John’s cooker, boil the water for so long that half of it evaporated, burn the pasta, clump the meat together, and have every single carrot raw in the middle.

“At least the meat’s cooked,” Sebastian said bleakly, staring down at the mess on his plate.

There was a second of silence, and then the both of them burst out laughing.

“Bloody hell,” John chuckled, putting his face in his hands. “You’re right, thank _God_ it won’t poison us – we must be proud of ourselves!”

Sebastian wiped at his eyes and grabbed his fork, parting the sauce and getting a look at the centre of his meal. “Look, I bet it won’t taste that bad. I mean… it won’t if you hold your nose.”

John picked up his fork, stabbed a mushroom, and popped it into his mouth. “Okay,” he said after a second, “that mushroom was alright.”

Sebastian tried a mushroom and nodded. “See? Not all bad.”

“Jesus Christ. Try the rest.” John filled their wine glasses a bit more in preparation.

“It’s not that bad!” Sebastian insisted after a spoonful of the sauce. “Carrots are a bit hard, but… not too bad.”

“How about the pasta?” John glanced at him.

Sebastian swallowed. “Alright, the pasta looks a bit soft and strangely… whatever colour that is, but… but I bet it tastes fine.”

John took a spoonful and cringed at the texture, but he eventually managed to swallow. “Oh my God, it’s like eating bread-flavoured jelly.”

Sebastian laughed and span some onto his fork, tasting it himself. It was weird, to say the least. “You’re just fussy,” he accused, deliberately beginning to chomp down on the rest of his food.

“Yes, of course, _I’m_ the problem, it’s not at all that you don’t actually know how to cook pasta.”

“Well, you didn’t help.”

“I was tidying up.”

“This place is already spotless.”

John shook his head and drank some wine before starting his food.

Despite the little quarrels and tribulations, both of them cleared their plates – though, John had to admit that his was cleared more out of his dislike of wasting food than a real taste for the dish.

He gathered their plates and began the washing up only to have Sebastian take over. They agreed that John would dry the things and put them away, because the alpha was refusing to sit down and not help at all.

They did move back into the living room after dinner. Wine glasses on the coffee table, Sebastian managed to convince John to just sit down and spend some time with him for a while before the film. Sebastian pulled him in and kissed him again, those warm hands once again encircling his waist and holding him close. John’s combed into his hair, one hand cupping Sebastian’s head and the other falling to rub the back of his neck fondly.

He didn’t know how long they’d spent just kissing on the sofa, but eventually things moved along a bit. John’s tongue peeked out and started flicking along the line of Sebastian’s bottom lip, and then another came from the other way and joined his in the middle. John made a gentle _(shameful)_ peep of a whine in surprise and stuck his tongue out a bit more, running it along the other one, and it responded in kind.

Then he was being pushed back, nudged away by Sebastian’s body, and those firm arms were holding him up as they lowered him down onto the sofa until his head rested on the arm at the other end. Sebastian hovered over him, still not forcing anything except the more natural position that they’d assumed together. The alpha’s body was aligned with his perfectly but he felt no pressure or weight over him. He must have been holding himself up somehow but John’s mind was too far away to figure out where his hands were because _Jesus Christ,_ his libido was rushing back again. He was getting warm, very warm, and he doubted the heat was coming from the man on top of him.

God, there was a man on top of him. He wanted. He wanted very much, but he couldn’t. But, actually, well, he could, couldn’t he?

Sebastian’s hips dipped down slightly and, _there,_ John felt a soft but prominent lump against his hip bone. His crotch very accidentally tipped up and against Sebastian’s, and that was taken as a cue to move things along just a little more. No step too big, never too big with Sebastian, it seemed. He lowered his hips down over John’s and just pressed their crotches together, giving him time to get used to their positions.

After a good few seconds, John felt him rock gently. He made a surprised noise and then Sebastian rocked again. How sensitive was he that the tiny little movement there had him so hot and bothered? They were rocking a little bit more now, not fiercely and, John expected, not with any intention to really get further than this, but it felt _so good._ Moving together with Sebastian, their groins aligned _just so,_ he couldn’t help but grunt softly into his mouth.

Then, though, Sebastian started moving a bit more. His hips pressed harder and the rocking got more firm, more serious, and John was suddenly very aware of how close he really was, but he couldn’t pull away now, not right now. He opened his eyes to see, but Sebastian didn’t look nearly so close to the edge as he was, so he decided then and there that he really, really couldn’t go any further tonight. He couldn’t sit there and come in his pants while this alpha was still at half-mast on top of him. He wasn’t in heat _yet._

“Sebastian,” he muttered against his lips, beginning to pull back. Sebastian started kissing downwards instead, along his jaw.

“John,” Sebastian grunted in return, misunderstanding completely.

John couldn’t blame him. “No – Sebastian. Hold on. Wait. Please.”

Sebastian had started to slow as soon as he’d heard the word ‘no’. He looked up and saw how pink and flustered John looked, and pulled back more, sitting back on his heels. “Oh, God. Jesus.” He cupped his hands to his face. “I am _so_ sorry. Was that too much? Too fast?”

“No,” John said, sitting up and taking Sebastian’s wrists. He pulled them away from his face. “No, it… yeah, but no. Sorry, I just… I’m not there yet. Ready for… I…” He swallowed, and then sighed. “Got too close. Sorry. I got close and I don’t want to just… I don’t want this first time to just be some grinding on the sofa.” He blushed harder, the heat burning in his cheeks. “Sorry.”

“No,” Sebastian said, pulling John’s hands to his lips and kissing his knuckles. “Don’t apologise, John, that’s fine. I just didn’t realise.”

He sighed, and they settled into silence. After glancing around, he kissed John’s hands again. “Look,” he said quietly. “I think it’s getting a little late.”

John’s face fell. “Oh, no, don’t. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to drive you away or any—”

“John,” Sebastian said, smiling. “You’re not driving me away. I was planning on leaving around now anyway. I’ve got a bit of work to finish off at home. If I finish it, we’ll have all of Saturday and Sunday to ourselves before my boss gets back. Okay?”

John sighed, but nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Sebastian confirmed. He leaned forwards and kissed John again before grabbing his jacket and standing up. “Don’t look like that, John. It’s fine.” He smiled. “I’ll see you on Saturday.”

John, comforted by the reassurance, went to see Sebastian to the door. “Saturday,” he agreed.


	6. Chapter 6

After Sebastian had left on Thursday night, John had retreated into his bathroom, whipped himself out, and had a very well-fuelled few minutes of happiness with himself. He stood firmly by his decision to wait, but he still needed to get off and he wasn’t wasting the erection that Sebastian had kindly worked him up to – alright, maybe he was still a little bit anxious about his flagging libido, but that wasn’t without appropriate cause. Until his body had proven its newfound ability to actually behave like a normal human body, he didn’t trust it, so he’d be taking every opportunity he got to enjoy himself while he could.

John couldn’t sleep that night. The nightmare he’d suffered the night before was a distant weight in his chest, merely an uncomfortable feeling when he thought about it but perfectly ignorable the rest of the time. It wasn’t because of the dream that he couldn’t sleep. He just kept rolling over, and he wished he could stop it. Every time he rolled over he noticed the cold side of the bed, the empty half of his room. He hadn’t realised before the last week that he’d only taken up one half of his bedroom, but now he couldn’t stop realising it. Of course, his side was sparsely decorated as it was, but his dog tags, worn-once jeans, and scar cream was better than the dust gathering on the window sill and bedside table across the room.

Tonight he lay there staring across at the other side of the bed, but tonight he wasn’t wondering whether it’d ever get filled by anyone like he usually did. Instead he was wondering (admittedly, not for the first time) if it’d ever get filled by Sebastian, especially after the display he’d put on this evening. With a heavy sigh and a reminder that he hadn’t left forever, John rolled over and tried, again, to go to sleep.

John took his jog on Friday morning, obsessing the whole time about how stupid he’d been to reject Sebastian the evening before. It took him a long time to come to the conclusion that, actually, it hadn’t been stupid at all. He’d gone his whole doctoring life telling teenagers to wait until they were ready, not let peers pressure them into doing anything they didn’t want to do, and it was just occurring to him now how much of a hypocrite his regret was making him. Besides, just because Sebastian had left straight after John had stopped things didn’t mean he wasn’t coming back. John specifically remembered him mentioning that he _was_ coming back. And, well, if he didn’t then he wasn’t the sort of person that John would want to come back anyway.

After his jog he texted him just in case.

Hope you don’t have too much work. Remember: breaks are important! JW

John felt like a major idiot, but he pressed send before he could change his mind and then turned for the shower. He went to the gym earlier on that day, spent an extra hour or two in the swimming pool doing some lengths to make up for his day off yesterday. His body was aching by the time he got to the showers, but it was a good ache. All the aches were good aches except the one at his shoulder, and even that one he rubbed out with some hot water and good shower gel.

On Friday, he got home in the early evening and had nothing to do. He ended up cooking dinner early, and then had to wait for another whole evening until he could go to bed early and, inevitably, wake up early. The only perk he’d had was a single text from Sebastian as he was finishing his dinner:

Almost finished. Might come over tomorrow. Doing anything Sunday? SM

John replied swiftly, grimly reminding Sebastian that he was _always_ free and _never_ doing anything, but he didn’t get another message after that. He supposed he’d have to wait until the work was done. Which, if he stepped back and thought about rationally, was perfectly fair.

He was in bed before he got the message, but woke up in the morning with two new texts received at 1:02AM.

Finished. All free. Mind if I stay the night tomorrow? SM

Sorry if that woke you up – go back to sleep. SM

John grinned and found himself unable to resist clutching his phone to his chest for a second. He was allowed. Nobody was watching.

Come whenever, stay until whenever. I don’t mind. JW

He jumped out of bed at seven, jogged until eight, and was showered and dressed at his kitchen table for half-past. He was well aware that Sebastian probably wouldn’t be there until at least midday, but he couldn’t help it. There was a flutter in his chest that refused to be crushed.

He was right: Sebastian arrived at two o’clock. Well, strictly speaking he barely arrived at all. An overnight bag (John assumed) was thrown into the hallway by his feet while a hand was thrown over John’s at the door, and soon he was being dragged out and along the road with barely enough time to grab his keys from the bowl on his way out. They walked, fingers entwined, towards town.

“That was… unexpected,” John breathed, still slightly in shock as they finally slowed down.

Sebastian chuckled and lifted John’s hand to his mouth, kissing it. “I should hope so. Been waiting to do that for ages.”

“You’ve only known me a week,” John pointed out. Then he struggled to correct what he’d said. “I mean, not that… I did appreciate it, I just—can’t be ages. You know? Been… a week. Sorry.”

“Feels like ages,” Sebastian replied, ignoring the stuttering in favour of leaning over and giving him a swift kiss. John blushed and bit his lip to keep his stupid grin off his face.

“Where we going, then? I should warn you, I didn’t have time to get my wallet.”

Sebastian snorted. “I’m being a gentleman, John. We’re going to see a film and I’m paying.”

“Oh, you old romantic,” John teased, shoving him with his shoulder. Sebastian gave him an irritated smile.

Upon reflection, John had no idea where all the time had gone. They hadn’t really done much, he didn’t think. They’d waited half an hour and seen a film, taken a stroll through town to a pub for dinner and drinks, and then taken further detours on the way back to John’s, involving a walk through a park and along the little canal that lead back to the main road. Things had gotten a little bit heated under the cover of dark trees on the way back, but, luckily for John, both of them had had the hindsight to remember where they were. It was almost ten o’clock by the time they got back to his bungalow, and it took John three tries to get his key into the lock.

“Had a little bit too much, hm?” Sebastian teased, sliding his hands around John’s waist and following him inside. He kissed at the nape of his neck and kicked the door shut behind him while John tried to turn around.

“I have had exactly the right amount,” John insisted. He squirmed and wriggled around in Sebastian’s arms until they were face-to-face, only to tip his head away again anyway as the alpha kept up the wet kisses over his neck.

“Just because I’m staying overnight,” Sebastian murmured softly, “doesn’t mean we have to go any further than you’re comfortable with.”

John couldn’t really think. It was unfair, really, that this man was so nice. It was making it extremely hard for him to remember what it was he was saying no to – and _why._ “Okay,” he breathed.

Sebastian was making his way along John’s jaw now, kissing and nipping all the way from ear to ear. “I mean it,” he said firmly, though he didn’t stop. “Any time you want to say no. Just say it and I’ll stop. And I’ll still stay over. Unless you don’t want me to. In which case–”

“Fucking hell, shut _up_ ,”John groaned, and then he was lifting one hand to yank on Sebastian’s hair, pull his head back, and mash their mouths together.

Sebastian didn’t seem to have anything else to say to that. He clutched at John’s back and slid one hand down over his arse, squeezing playfully. John responded by rocking forwards and rubbing their crotches together encouragingly. Tongues wound together between their mouths, stroking and caressing lips, teeth, other tongues, as Sebastian slid his other hand down and started pulling at John’s bum and thighs. John obliged to the silent request, wrapping his arms around Sebastian’s neck and jumping up so his legs wound around his waist. There they stayed for a little while, rocking against each other in unison, until John pulled his face away. Again, Sebastian worked his way around John’s jaw and neck, and for another minute he found himself too distracted to talk.

Eventually, he cleared his throat. “Hey,” he muttered, and Sebastian slowed down. “No, keep… yes, please, it’s good. I just…” He swallowed. “Remember our first date?”

“Mm?” Sebastian hummed, not sure of the relevance. He pulled away from John’s neck and stood still, breathing heavy as he stared at his partner. “Beer, Thai food… What?”

“Bedroom’s bigger,” John said. He raised an eyebrow and tried to smile.

Sebastian snorted, and then tipped his head to John’s collarbone as he started laughing. Yes, he remembered now. He lowered John to the floor, gave him one last, hard kiss, and let himself be lead down the dark hallway.

John put his bedside lamp on for some dim lighting and returned to Sebastian by the door. He put his hands on his waist, returning to his mouth, but one of them roamed down on its own and cupped the large bulge in his trousers, pressing gently. A gentle grunt vibrated through Sebastian’s chest and he wrapped his arms around John, hands pressed firmly to his back. He walked him backwards until the backs of his legs hit the bed, and then he pushed a bit more firmly, propping John up as he fell back against the immaculately made duvet.

After a bit of adjustment so neither of them were half-hanging off the bed, Sebastian was propped on top of John just as they’d been days ago on the sofa, and this time John had no intentions of stopping him. This time, Sebastian seemed to be taking care to notice how close John was, because as soon as he started really getting onto the home stretch already, all of the movement below the waist stopped. Instead there was a hand on his chest, untucking his shirt, undoing his buttons. John opened his eyes to stare up at the ceiling and tried to pull himself together a bit – even if those biting lips over his collarbone were calling for most of his attention back.

“Oh,” John said, a thought occurring to him. He propped himself up on his elbows and put a hand on the back of Sebastian’s head. “I… Sorry, I need to ask this. I’m a doctor, if that’s any excuse.”

“All clean,” Sebastian interrupted, pecking the centre of John’s chest as he read his mind. “You know exactly where I’ve been in the last few years, too, if it makes you more comfortable.”

John blushed. “I’m sure I’ve been in the same place. I’m… Me, too. So… Yes. Good. But still–”

“Don’t worry, John, I’m happy to…” He waved a hand. “Don the armour. Jesus, I’d put on seven if it made you feel better.”

John blushed harder and rolled his eyes, dropping back. He believed that Sebastian was clean, and it was comforting to know that he was willing to go safe anyway. “Just shut up and ravish me already, you bastard.”

“Yes, _sire_ ,” Sebastian muttered, and he nipped at one of John’s nipples.

John let out a yelp and yanked on his hair by accident, but Sebastian just kept going, licking around John’s chest and then following the cool path his tongue had left with sweet kisses. Meanwhile, his hand continued to roam south in its path to pop all of John’s buttons. Once his shirt had been fully splayed he moved onto the jeans, first undoing the zip and then the button. If he noticed a bit of a belly on John, he didn’t say anything. Very gently, he pulled at the elastic waistband of John’s briefs until his eager cock straightened up and poked at his knuckles. He exhaled heavily over John’s chin and then pulled away, lifting him in order to tug his shirt out from under him.

All the while, John had started stripping Sebastian. He was expectedly impressed with the toned torso he found under the thin cotton: Sebastian was utterly, mouth-wateringly ripped. There were scars – and plenty of them, too – but John knew he wasn’t supposed to pay attention to those. He wasn’t quite as delicate as his partner had been with him, smacking hands away and lifting things up until he could pull the white top over his head and fling it across the room in comparison to the gentle undoing of buttons and easing away that the alpha had been doing with him. A set of military-issue dog tags was hidden beneath his vest, too, which John fingered in question. A hand closed around his and pulled it away.

“I… I need those on, please,” Sebastian murmured, kissing John’s chest again.

He didn’t get to think about it much longer. Sebastian’s hand dipped under his pants and wrapped around his cock and all of the breath rushed out of his lungs, because he’d forgotten, again, how it felt to be in someone else’s hand and have someone else pleasuring him. He reached down with both shaking hands and fumbled with buttons and zips and waistbands until his hand was in Sebastian’s pants, too, and… and, okay, he’d kind of forgotten alpha anatomy. For a moment he hesitated, feeling how much larger Sebastian was than what he was used to on himself, but then the hand on him started moving and it didn’t seem to care how small his own member was, so he decided that he didn’t care, either.

Sebastian was working him too slowly to get him anywhere dangerously near to a climax, so they – well, definitely John – spent a good little while learning each other before moving on. John varied his pace and took his time running his hand over every bump of Sebastian’s cock, learning how he reacted to every touch he could think of, and he felt Sebastian doing the same. Then the hand dipped down to rub at his balls and he moaned very softly, accidentally squeezing at the head of Sebastian’s cock, which, in turn, caused him to moan, too.

Before John knew it, Sebastian had pulled away and was pushing his trousers and pants down, using first his hands and then his feet to get the jeans off and then, while he was up, stripping John’s bottoms off as well. He landed back on top of him in a bit more of a rush than he seemed to have been before.

While they kissed, John tried to reach out to the middle drawer of his bedside table. They moved and shuffled over together until he could pull out his lube and press it into Sebastian’s chest. He took it without hesitation, pulling away from the kiss for a second just to get a few drops of it into the palm of his hand. Then he flipped the cap back into place, tossed it onto the bed next to them, and lowered himself back on top of John, bringing their crotches together again and letting his identity discs rest between their chests.

John made a half-grunting, half-moaning sound as Sebastian ran a hand over him a few more times, and then was glad for the few seconds he got to pull himself together while Sebastian spread the lubricant over himself. Then there was a heavy weight over him again, and a hand keeping them together as Sebastian’s hips started moving.

“Oh my God,” John breathed, holding Sebastian tight against him. “Fucking hell.”

Sebastian huffed a breathy laugh against his lips. “Same,” he muttered. His free arm moved upwards until his forearm was framing John’s face, and he combed his hand into John’s hair as he slipped his tongue back between his lips.

Eventually, Sebastian’s hips ground to a halt and his hand started doing more work. He shuffled down until they were better aligned around the midsection area and then started pumping them both a bit faster, concentrating on the upper halves of their erections. John’s fingers dug into Sebastian’s back and pulled at the shorter hairs on the back of his neck, and their lips hovered, centimetres apart, moans and gasps being exchanged in the small gap between them while they were too breathless to kiss properly.

“God, Seb,” John breathed, closing his eyes and forcing his hand down to squeeze his bum affectionately. “I’m… not much longer.”

He didn’t reply, but John thought that maybe he simply couldn’t. He could feel his balls beginning to tighten, that high-pressure heat pulling at his stomach, and he could only hope that Sebastian was at least half as close as he was, otherwise this was bloody embarrassing. Luckily, there seemed to be some very restrained grunts and groans coming from on top of him, but still he tried to hold onto himself as much as possible.

He was certain that his eyes were watering by the time Sebastian started giving the right clues; his hips started moving again, faster, more shallow than before; every time John dared open an eye his teeth were clenched tighter and tighter; now that John thought about it, his hand around their cocks was squeezing quite tight, too. He’d never let his own hand get this strong before – never needed to, he supposed. Eventually, Sebastian hissed, “Fuck, yes, John… Any second. You… whenever. S’fine. Shit…”

Now that he was aware of how tight the hand was around his cock, he couldn’t help but feel like he was already dangling off the edge, and all he had to do was let go. Suddenly, every single experience of penetration he could remember having rushed to the front of his mind, and he’d never had a girl this tight before. It was no wonder alphas liked the top if this was what they got with an anus.

When Sebastian had given John his blessing to go on any time he wanted to, John had actually moaned in relief before doing just that. He let go of the rope he was dangling from and, with a long, strangled groan, clutched Sebastian even tighter and came all over his front. His partner wasn’t quite there yet, so, much to his pleasure, he got wanked right through his orgasm. Even Sebastian let out a whispered, “Yes, John, do it,” as his hand caught the wet release and spread it over the both of them. In the end, he’d had to let go of John and keep going on his own for a few seconds before he came over John’s belly with a few deep moans and then collapsed, panting, on top of him, his tags jingling slightly when he dropped.

For a little while, all John could hear was the sound of heavy breathing, and he knew it was coming from both of them. He could tell, even with Sebastian lying on him and his eyes closed and the light dim, whose ejaculate was whose as it ran down his sides. One of the trails was made of thin, almost watery stuff, and it was cold already. Even if he hadn’t had a lifetime of experience with it, he’d have known it was his own. The other was in thick globs, still lukewarm as it edged its way slowly down the path John’s semen had left. He thought, with deep satisfaction in his chest, that that was Sebastian’s.

“Sticky,” he murmured after a while, his hands stroking Sebastian’s hair, neck, back, arse.

“Struggling to breathe?” Sebastian murmured back. John felt him smile against his shoulder, and then a gentle kiss at his neck. “I’ll get up… soon.”

“No rush,” John said, chuckling once. He closed his eyes and let his head relax back into his pillows. “Really… really, no rush.”

They were quiet for another minute, and in that time, Sebastian seemed to read his mind. He was doing that a lot recently.

“Been a while since either of us felt this,” he said softly. “Forgot how… _warm_ it was.”

“Mm,” John hummed, blushing slightly at the moment they were having. “It is warm, isn’t it? Fluttery warm. Good warm.”

“Very good warm,” Sebastian agreed, kissing his neck again. John tilted his head away and sighed happily. “That was really good, John.”

John swallowed – Sebastian felt it against his lips. “Sorry for… leaving you there,” he said eventually, opening his eyes and looking up at the ceiling. “I couldn’t keep it up.”

“I told you to,” Sebastian reminded him, stroking the outside of his thigh where his warm hand lay. “It’s okay.” He sighed over John’s neck. “What’s the time?”

“Bedtime,” John answered, pressing his face into Sebastian’s hair. “Absolutely bedtime.”

“Clean-up time, and then bedtime,” Sebastian corrected, and he pushed himself up to sit back on his heels. He took a handful of tissues from the box on the bedside table and split it in two, wiping John with one hand and then himself with the other.

Then, with a happy sigh, he laid back down. This time he curled up behind John and slid his hands around his waist.

This had been a week of firsts for John, and tonight was another. He reached out and turned the lights off, safely wrapped in Sebastian’s arms for the night.


	7. Chapter 7

Over the next week, John had almost the time of his life. Sebastian was working from Monday to Friday, but John didn’t mind the time they spent apart. Aside from the fact that he was used to being on his own, it gave him the time to pick up his routine at the gym; he hadn’t gone all weekend because he’d been with Sebastian, and he was going to make the time up this week. He was also okay with the alone time because, well, the time he spent in Sebastian’s company healed any bitterness he held, mostly by their dates always seeming to end in thorough debauchery.

They texted throughout the days, wherever they were and whenever they could manage. John usually texted from the gym, Sebastian from the locations of his various errands. His working hours, although seemingly daytime-only, still appeared erratic to John – as did the work he was actually performing. He turned up on John’s doorstep a good few times throughout the week with various bags, briefcases, sometimes little plastic suitcases.

He was over on Monday evening, dumping a rattling carry-all in John’s hall and a takeaway on his kitchen table. Early in the night, because Sebastian  _ did _ have work in the morning, they went to bed together for the second time. It was the same as the first, technically, but somehow it felt entirely different. John didn’t feel like a teenage virgin anymore, he felt like a man in a relationship, like he knew what he was doing with his life. It was more comfortable this time, and Sebastian rubbed his belly gently as he fell asleep.

John woke to a cold bed and a note on the pillow.

_ John, _

_ So sorry. There was something wrong with an order somewhere and I got called in. It’s five o’clock, so I won’t wake you. Last night was wonderful. Text me when you wake up (don’t call, though – my boss isn’t a happy bunny today). I really am sorry. Hopefully see you later. _

_ Seb x _

John sent him a reassuring text to tell him that it was okay, he understood, and he’d see him later. Then he got in the shower and went to clean up the takeaway leftovers.

Later that evening, Tuesday evening, just as John was sitting down to eat, Sebastian appeared on his doorstep again. He dumped another bag, this time a clanking rucksack, into John’s hall and instantly brought him into a deep kiss. “Sorry for this morning. Ooh, is that dinner?”

They had spaghetti bolognese at the kitchen table, feet entwined, then ice cream on the sofa, hands entwined, and then, just as the kisses were heating up again, Sebastian had pulled back.

“Shit,” he muttered, eyeing the clock. “Jesus Christ, John, I’m so sorry. I need to go.”

“What?” John frowned, putting the ice cream on the table and standing up with him. “Why? Where?”

“I have an order for work arriving at my place tomorrow morning. Need to be there.” He turned and placed a sudden, swift kiss on John’s lips. “I completely forgot. I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

“Oh,” John said disappointedly. He leaned against the doorway, watching Sebastian pull on his coat, straighten his collar, and haul his clinking bag over his shoulder. “Okay. Yeah, no, that’s fine.” He smiled. “It’s alright. Call me when you get home.”

Sebastian smiled back. “Course.”

John tried not to be too upset when Sebastian pulled the door closed behind him. He dragged himself back into the living room, put his feet on the coffee table, and ate the rest of his dessert alone in front of the TV, a deep shame curling in his chest. He felt duped, again.

He didn’t see Sebastian at all on Wednesday. He’d received a warning text at lunchtime saying he might have been working late, and then, about the time John supposed he usually finished work, he got another. This one was letting him know that he’d been on another errand and wasn’t even back at his office yet, so he wouldn’t be able to make it that night. He was just too tired. John, of course, understood. He tried not to mind too much as he sent a reply and sat in the living room, feet on the table again, to eat his dinner.

On Thursday, John came home from the gym to find Sebastian sitting on his front step.

“Seb?” he called, pushing the front garden gate open and fishing his keys from his bag. “What are you doing here?”

“Surprise.” Sebastian grinned. He stood, stretched his back, and pulled John into an almost crushing hug. “I keep abandoning you this week. I told you I’d make it up to you.”

“How long have you been here?” John worried, hugging him close and pressing his face into Sebastian’s shoulder. “Aren’t you cold?”

Sebastian shook his head. He pulled away and kissed John on the cheek before letting him get to the door. “Nah, it’s getting warmer these days. I haven’t been here ages, anyway, only a few minutes.” He looked John up and down. “Where’ve you been? You always tell me you’re never doing anything.”

John couldn’t help but blush a little bit as he pushed the door open. “Just the gym.”

“Didn’t know you worked out,” Sebastian teased, automatically glancing down at John’s arse. He reached for a small plastic suitcase and pulled it inside after him.

“S’a recent thing,” John mumbled, dropping his bag on the stairs. “What’s in that one?”

“This?” Sebastian gestured to the suitcase he was lugging in. “Work stuff.”

“You always have work stuff.” John raised an eyebrow. “What do you do, go on holiday for a living?”

Sebastian laughed. “Errands. This isn’t packed with clothes, anyway. It’s not a suitcase. It’s just a travel case.”

“For what?”

“It’s a camera case.”

John shook his head. “Sometimes you seem more like a photographer than a personal assistant.”

“If he wants it done, I get it done,” Sebastian replied. He shrugged. “I get…  _ really _ good pay. And, to be honest, I really think it’s best I don’t question him. In general, the more random the task, the worse the answer.”

John didn’t really understand what that meant, so he ignored it. “Just a camera? That massive thing for a camera?”

Sebastian shook his head, taking his jacket off. “The camera’s not in there, actually. I leave the most important stuff in the office. Everything else comes back with me. In there’s two tripods, some old microphones, and some lighting stuff. That’s why it’s so heavy.”

John hung his coat up next to Sebastian’s and lined his shoes up next to the heavy boots by the door, deciding to move on. “I need to get out of these clothes. Before I forget – are you staying over tonight?”

“Can’t,” Sebastian said, “need to take the case back home with me. But we’ve got the rest of the afternoon and then the evening. I’ll go home whenever we’re finished and not before.”

“That’s fine.” John nodded. He smiled, passing Sebastian to get to his bedroom. “I just wanted to know what to expect.”

Sebastian shrugged and followed him, leaning against the doorway and watching John pull his top off. He sighed. “I have a pretty demanding job,” Sebastian admitted, rubbing an eye, “but it’s the only constant thing I’ve had in my life for years. I can’t let it go.”

John turned around, a clean shirt on but not buttoned. He looked mildly horrified. “God, no, don’t let it go. I don’t want you to resign just so you can stay overnight more often. I’m not that whiney, am I?”

“No, of course you’re not,” Sebastian said hurriedly. “I’m just trying to explain, that’s all.”

John smiled. “And I appreciate it. So let’s enjoy the time we have. Nothing has to be too serious, Seb, we’re only just starting out. What do you want to do today?”

They took a walk, got ice creams, got dinner, and then made out under a tree. The plan had been ‘we’ll take a walk and get dinner’ but John was learning that Sebastian liked kissing quite a bit, and impromptu kissing sessions could spring up at any time in any place while they were anywhere near each other. He didn’t really mind. Not even when he had to beat down his erection in the middle of a public park in the evening.

When they got in, Sebastian left almost straight away, lugging his fat case behind him. He’d promised to come over and stay the night tomorrow, though he wasn’t sure what time he’d arrive. In the end, it turned out to be just as John was getting a spoon out for his casserole – the man seemed to have a knack for arriving right in time for John to dish him up some food. Over dinner, Sebastian’s chatter went from mindless banter to genuine talk in minutes.

“I know,” – he swallowed – “that we haven’t been seeing each other that long,” he began. He picked at his food. “I know that both of us have been more than comfortable taking things slowly. But… but I think we kind of need to point out the elephant.”

John’s stomach froze over like a jug of Pimms at Christmas. “Elephant,” he murmured. They had an elephant?

“Oh, John,” Sebastian breathed, smiling slightly. “Relax. Not a bad elephant. A good one. Sort of. Probably.  _ I _ think it’s a good one.”

John gulped. “Elephant,” he repeated, not at all comforted by the stutter.

“Normal relationships don’t go from dates to sleepovers in two weeks,” Sebastian said quietly, a little smile playing at his lips. “Let’s think rationally. Both of us have had extensive experience in this department, and, well, we  _ know _ that it usually takes longer than this.” He was quiet for a moment, looking carefully at John. “I don’t want to scare you away. I think I should shut up now.”

“Don’t shut up,” John blurted. His knuckles were white around his spoon. “Don’t. I want to hear whatever it is you’re saying.”

Sebastian smiled again. “I’ve never had this sort of feeling with anybody else before,” he admitted. “I’ve… I’ve never been this  _ sure.” _

John’s breath left him in a heavy huff. He very quickly drew it back in. “Me neither,” he said, shrugging with one shoulder. “I thought… I mean, I was so lonely, Seb. I didn’t know if this was just some sort of final desperate plea from my body or if this was, you know. The real thing.”

“Must be real,” Sebastian sipped his drink. “I’ve been feeling it for days. I feel like, like I’ve known you forever. Literally forever. Like we met years ago. We fit so well.”

John smiled, feeling a hot blush rise in his cheeks. “I’m not crazy, then.”

“Not yet,” Sebastian laughed, and, easy as that, the tension melted away. John knew he wasn’t getting obsessively attached, and that he and Sebastian really could have a future together, and it was (God bless) a Friday. He’d never felt this content.

He moved things along further that night. After their chat, what choice did he have? He was starting to let himself expand his field of mental vision, look with more open eyes. He was thinking about the future, about them having a future together, and he was excited. Straight after dinner he dumped the plates in the sink and pulled Sebastian into his bedroom, laying him down on the bed and remembering the first time they’d been like this with the positions swapped. He copied all of Sebastian’s moves, gently kissing his mouth, his jaw, down his neck, collarbone, chest, as he unbuttoned his shirt, splaying the fabric and revealing his dog tags again – only he didn’t stop there tonight. Tonight he wanted to be a bit more adventurous. Nothing too close, but much closer than merely a rub-up.

He went back up to Sebastian’s mouth while his hands worked his trousers open. Sebastian, ever someone to reciprocate, had already started undoing his shirt and easing it off. With vaguely practiced movements they undressed each other, but John reached out and took hold of Sebastian’s wrist when it reached around for where the lube was kept. He pulled it back, smiling, and reached over himself to pull out a condom but leave the lube behind. Without a word, he moved backwards, shuffling away on his knees, and then tore the pack open. It took a few tries but soon enough he got the rubber down Sebastian’s shaft (honestly, he’d been a bit scared that it’d be too small) and then he bent forwards again, his face directly over his crotch.

“John,” he breathed, propping himself up on his elbows. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” John insisted, kissing the delicate skin in the creases where Sebastian’s thighs met his torso.

“Really, I don’t want you to do any more than what you want. I was great with just the… the before thing. I mean it.” Sebastian stroked John’s head with his hand, felt his hair under his fingertips.

“I want to,” John said again, working his kisses down to the base of Sebastian’s cock. Then, with slow and rusty movements, he kissed upwards, gradually opening his mouth until he could take the tip between his lips and suck gently.

Sebastian moaned softly. John glanced up and his eyes were closed. He sucked again and then pulled away, kissing all the way down, then up the other side, and taking him in again. It had been so long since he’d done this but at least he wasn’t unprepared for Sebastian’s size this time. He started bobbing his head, just a little bit. While his mouth worked the top half of his cock, John’s hands came up and started appreciating the bottom. He wanked in time with his bobs while his right hand rubbed and squeezed at Sebastian’s balls.

Hands tightened into his hair, but they never pushed or pulled. He did feel a sharp pinch at his hair at one point, though, but all it triggered was pride. He was beginning to detect a slight swelling beneath his left hand where it pumped Sebastian: a knot. Not a fully inflating one, absolutely not, but it sent a hot wave of victory splashing through John’s chest to find that Sebastian was having such a good time that even his knot was joining in. He squeezed it gently and Sebastian moaned louder, not just a whined groan but an actual moan this time.

“John,” he choked, finally beginning to push his head – though he was pushing it away. “Can’t, no more. No more. Want to with you.”

John pulled off but kissed around his groin again. He’d never been so close to it before, but Sebastian’s scent was ten times stronger down here than at his neck. Utterly unique and himself. Unfortunately, the strange little error flagged up in John’s head again, something not right with it. He ignored it; Sebastian would tell him when he was ready. “I don’t care,” he said. “Please, I want to do this for you.”

Sebastian watched him for a moment and John saw the exact second that his resolve dissolved. There was an omega between his bare legs asking to suck him off, and he was only human. With a deeply restrained gulp, he nodded and relaxed back again.

John felt a buzz in his chest at being allowed to move things along a little. He’d made progress in leaps and bounds and every time something got easier or he could try something new he felt a lurch of anticipation in his chest; it was  _ exciting. _ He was so excited to be able to have someone to share himself, these experiences, with. He descended back onto Sebastian’s cock with completely replenished fervour, closing his mouth tighter around him, bobbing faster, going lower. It had been a good few years since he’d given a blowjob but, for all the world, Sebastian didn’t seem to notice. He moaned and tugged at hair and cried out until John felt him tense all over. The cock in his mouth twitched a few times as he fell silent and he felt something gentle against the back of his mouth as Sebastian filled the condom.

After a few more gentling sucks and squeezes, John pulled away and let him gather himself together again.

“Do you want…?” he breathed eventually, gesturing at John’s erection.

“Don’t mind,” John lied, practically gazing at Sebastian’s flushed and exhausted body.

“What are you in the mood for?” Sebastian smiled as he sat up and pulled the condom off, leaving it in a tissue on the side. He had a look in the little drawer and fished his own new one out, brandishing the little packet with an eyebrow wiggle. “Same?”

John blushed deeply. “Won’t last very long.”

“And I did?”

John shrugged.

“Lie down.”

He did.

As Sebastian fellated him with more attention and skill than he’d felt in a while, he couldn’t help but think that these exchanges were slightly unfair. He got to experience deep-throating, having his whole prick in someone’s mouth. Sebastian had only gotten half of that – or less, really, because John supposed he’d only managed a quarter.

As he’d predicted, he only lasted a few minutes, and his fingers tightened in Sebastian’s hair as he came, calling his name and thrusting up gently. Sebastian peeled his rubber off and went to dispose of everything while John recovered, splayed like a starfish across his bed.

“Fantastic,” he praised, rolling to rest his head on Sebastian’s chest as soon as he returned. “Fucking fantastic.”

“Bit amateur,” Sebastian reminded him. He flicked John’s ear playfully, but then hugged him close. “But… Yeah. Great.”

John sighed and closed his eyes.

“Oh!” he cried, opening them again and propping himself up on his elbow. “I forgot to tell you. I’ve met some people at the gym.”

Sebastian grinned. “Thought it was a recent thing.”

“Piss off,” John muttered, tapping his stomach less than gently. “When’s your birthday?”

Sebastian frowned, but the corner of his mouth was twitched into a smile. “Thursday. Why, you planning me a surprise cross-country?”

“No, you idiot. They invited me out for drinks next Friday, I thought it’d be fun. Go out for a while, make some friends. I just remembered, it’s your birthday, so… I’m sure they won’t mind you coming along.” John tried to smile at him. Sebastian didn’t look so sure. “I really think it’ll be fun.”

Sebastian rubbed his face and then stared at John. “Are we not doing anything on the Thursday, then?”

“We can if you want,” John said hopefully. “Or, um, unless you’ve got something else to do. Going to go and see family?”

Sebastian scoffed. “No plans.”

John thought for a moment. “Well, then, how about dinner with me on Thursday, and then drinks with some new friends on Friday?”

Sebastian sighed, thinking. “I’m not good at people.”

“We don’t have to stay long. Just an hour. They’re so nice, Seb, honestly.”

“Fine,” he murmured, pulling at John. “But I think I deserve to sleep now for agreeing to it.

John grinned and kissed his chest. “You’ll have fun, you’ll see.”

Sebastian grunted, but otherwise gave no form of reply to John. He didn’t mind. He closed his eyes and listened to Sebastian’s breathing under his ear, felt the hot hand over his back, smiling to himself.

This week he’d had  _ almost _ the time of his life. He said ‘almost’ because, yes, it definitely was the happiest he’d been in years now, and, yes, suddenly he had a  _ boyfriend _ and a  _ libido _ and  _ friends, _ but he was still lacking something. Here, in this bed, with an exercised penis and an alpha cuddling him, he felt like there was something else he needed. Sebastian was great as a comfort, of course. He made John feel better about waking up every morning, and gave him a reason to do things, but John couldn’t deny that he didn’t seem to be scratching this particular restless itch of John’s just yet – and he  _ would _ eventually. John was sure of it.

Most of the time, he’d actually found himself able to ignore the peculiar sensation settled beneath his skin. It was only there when he remembered it, and even then it was just a delicate hum through the tiny little hairs all over him, so he started to believe that it was at least partially psychological. He’d been thinking about it too much and it was becoming real. He’d been thinking too much about how maybe he was getting this restlessness confused with excitement; people got excitement and anxiety confused all the time, and was restlessness really so different?

He’d decided to go on ignoring it. It had been present all this week and before that, but more prominent this week. Every time he’d gone to bed alone or woken up alone, he’d felt the gentle itch in his muscles. He’d tried more exercise at first, but activity did nothing to soothe it. Neither did tea, or showers, or physical scratching. If it was restlessness… well, he had a very good plan in mind for how to get rid of that. Sebastian’s birthday present would hopefully be dealing with it. All he had to do was go another week, and with Sebastian around, he was very much looking forward to it.


	8. Chapter 8

John plucked at the pink ribbon, shaping it with gentle nudges and pinches until it was perked into a perfect bow around the neck of the coat hanger. The simple brown paper hung, creased and jaunty, all the way to cover the bottom of the garment, and John took pride in that, if nothing else. He’d had to cut two strips of paper off and tape them on the tops of the hanger to cover the plastic-wrapped shoulders of the suit jacket, but he’d left the hook open for ease of storage (or, rather, hanging). It had hardly been an easy present to wrap up, soft and vertical as it was, but he hoped Sebastian would appreciate the effort he’d gone to all the same.

He left the suit hanging in his wardrobe and jumped into the shower a bit early; he still had a lot to do in preparation for the evening he had planned.

“Hello, birthday boy!” John cried later that day as he flung the door open. He launched himself into Sebastian’s arms and pulled him into a fierce kiss. “Happy birthday,” he murmured, breathing a soft laugh over Sebastian’s lips.

Sebastian smiled awkwardly in return and settled his hands on John’s lower back. “Thanks.”

John pulled back and saw he was blushing, and, with an adoring grin, he pressed a soft kiss to his rosy cheek. “Got you something.” He stepped back and took Sebastian’s hand. “Come on.”

“Oh, John…” Sebastian groaned.

“Jesus, don’t say it.” John shook his head as he lead Sebastian into his living room, where his pitifully wrapped suit hung on the bare bookshelf.

“You didn’t have to.”

John huffed a sigh and gave his arm a sharp tug. He swung them around until the alpha was in front of him, facing the neutral paper and the obnoxious pink bow adorning it. “Too bad. I think it’ll be really useful for you, I really do.”

Sebastian frowned at the bow in horror. “What in God’s name have you done?”

John laughed, pushing him forwards.

With a heavily defeated sigh, he pulled at the hanging lengths of the ribbon and took it apart, letting the sash weave its dainty way to the floor. Then he tucked his fingers into the neck of the wrapping and gave a sharp tug, bringing the front sheet of paper straight off. His eyes widened. “John!”

John smiled again, scratching his chin and watching as Sebastian pulled the rest of the paper off.

“My God, John, you got me a _suit,_ ” he exclaimed incredulously. He skimmed his fingertips over the plastic wrapping. His mouth had fallen open ever so slightly, and there was a troubled knot in his brow.

“What?” John said softly. He stepped forwards and frowned at Sebastian. “What is it, why are you looking like that? Do you want me to take it back?”

“No!” Sebastian said loudly, shaking his head. John could almost see a switch in his head being flipped to even out his features. “No, really, it’s fantastic.”

“You don’t like it,” John concluded. He sagged slightly, wanting to punch himself in the stomach to get rid of that hot ball of embarrassment, disappointment, upset at not being able to provide for the alpha before him – it was stupid, he _knew_ it was stupid, but at the same time it was true, wasn’t it? He was getting on for forty and, as independent as he was, he didn’t want to go it alone forever.

Sebastian’s face smoothed out further and he took John by the upper arms, drawing him into an attention-grabbing kiss. “I love it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Sebastian laughed. “I was just surprised, that’s all. How much was it?”

“Well, I’m not allowed to tell you that, am I?” John cocked an eyebrow.

Sebastian squinted at him. “John, if you’ve spent hundreds on me I’m going to bloody kill you before you get to see me in the damn thing.”

John’s teasing smile broke into a beaming grin. “It was a present. I’m practically bathing in cash here, Seb, just… come on. It’s your _birthday._ I bought you a proper suit because you can’t go to the fancy restaurant I’ve picked in _this,_ ” John grabbed and tugged at the worn collar of Sebastian’s leather jacket, “and I’m genuinely in the concerning belief that you don’t own anything other than several white t-shirts and a pair of jeans.”

“Of course I own other things,” he argued, plucking his jacket from John’s fingers and holding the lapel back to his chest defensively.

John, waiting for an answer, raised his eyebrow again.

Sebastian hesitated, opening and closing his mouth in true fish form. “I don’t have to prove myself to you!”

John shrugged. “Put the suit on. I need to see if it fits.”

The suit hugged Sebastian’s muscular curves perfectly. It was snug enough to show off his small bum, broad shoulders, and a generous portion of his crotch – perhaps a bit too generous a portion – whilst still giving him just about enough room to move as freely as he needed to (in a suit, at least) without the fabric tearing. In John’s opinion, he’d underestimated the sizes a touch, but Sebastian didn’t seem to be complaining.

“Jesus, John,” he muttered, turning around on the spot and staring at his own arse for a moment. “How did you manage this?”

John blushed, cleared his throat. “I’ve been sizing you up against me for the last week. Bit snug, isn’t it? Sorry. Estimates are never exact, I guess.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Sebastian laughed, straightening the jacket up again. He turned around and kissed John’s nose. “Thank you. Now put yours on.”

John’s suit was a much looser fit, and he had to dig around for a while to find a belt while Sebastian enjoyed the view of his trousers coming down. His shirt was a better fit than it had been a few months ago, which he was pleased about, but it was still obviously too wide for him even when it was tucked in. The jacket felt far too long in the sleeves, too, though in the mirror it looked alright.

Standing next to Sebastian, he looked a shambles.

“Let’s go,” he muttered quickly, turning his back on the mirror.

They travelled an hour into the city by cab, John not wanting to risk getting anything on Sebastian’s new suit on the tube. John had booked them into a cosy little restaurant that had candles on every table, and they were directed to a window seat with a beautiful view of the centre of London, the Thames sparkling bright from the ever-present glow of the metropolis.

John had hearts in his eyes all evening, but even when they were headed back to his bungalow, he didn’t allow Sebastian any more than some soft kisses.

“M-mm,” he tutted, pulling away as big, warm hands cupped his bum. “Not tonight.”

“Mm?” Sebastian whined, kissing across John’s cheek and trying to get to his neck.

“No, you bastard, I said not tonight. You’ve got work tomorrow, and then we’re going for drinks, and maybe after _that_ , if you’re a good boy, I’ll think about it.” He nipped Sebastian’s lip.

Sebastian sighed and backed off. That off, incomplete scent about him backed off, too. John felt bad for the little slump of relief that his shoulders automatically gave. “Better be the best birthday drinks I’ve ever had, John Watson.”

“Naturally. Can I walk you home now?”

Sebastian’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I said, can I walk you home?” He frowned. “Haven’t seen your place before, I just—”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Sebastian said, putting his hand on John’s back again and drawing him in the direction of the little bungalow.

John stared at the ground. “Do you trust me, Seb?”

Sebastian slowed down a little. “Of course I do, John. This is just… It’s a very complicated situation.”

“How?” John asked, looking up at him. He had the right to his own privacy, of course he did, but, hell _,_ John was starting to think about having a _life_ with this man, and he wasn’t allowed to see even the side of the campus he lived on? “Complicated how?”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened and he rubbed his chin. “I just can’t, John. I need it. For… my own things. Space. I need it as my own personal space. When I need a place that’s wholly and completely mine, if I need to go somewhere safe, I go home. If anybody else has been in there… well, it doesn’t feel so safe. If I can smell someone else on the sofa, or in the bathroom, it just makes me feel nervous. I know it’s dumb, I know I’m an idiot, but that’s how I feel, alright?”

John drew to a slow stop and turned around. He looked up at Sebastian but the man wouldn’t meet his eye, preferring instead to stare at his own shoes for a while.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian murmured, rubbing his chin again. “If that’s a problem, I don’t know how much longer this will work.”

“W-what?” John breathed. His chest constricted and it felt like he was having to work twice as hard to keep his heart functioning – it was as if every beat was an effort when he was already exhausted. “What’s that mean?” he wheezed.

Sebastian watched him. “It means that if you can’t live with not coming round my house, maybe we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

John felt his heart jump into his throat at that suggestion. Had he unclenched his fists, they’d have been visibly glistening with sweat. Had he been speaking, his voice would have shaken. Had he been asleep, he’d definitely have been dreaming up a nightmare. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t quite decide what to say – how could you tell someone that they were the only person you had, that they meant everything to you, that you didn’t know if you’d be able to survive the crushing loneliness that would replace them, when you’d only just met?

John swallowed. He took a deep breath of the cool night air and pulled on his rational thinking cap, because they couldn’t deal with this when they’d both had a drink. He knew that he himself would definitely end up saying something he regretted.

“I think we should talk about this tomorrow,” he said calmly, looking up at Sebastian. “We’ve had drinks, we’re a bit tired, it’s getting late. And, Jesus, it’s still your birthday. I’m so sorry.” He sighed, rubbed his eyes, and joined his fingers to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t mean to get into an argument, I was just… frustrated. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

Sebastian nodded.

“Okay,” John said carefully. “Goodnight.”

He began to back away slowly, and Sebastian just stared after him. Eventually he turned around and started walking properly. Sebastian didn’t catch up.

John hardly slept a wink that night, preoccupied with trying not to grovel for Sebastian’s forgiveness down the damn phone while he was awake and relentless nightmares while he was asleep. He fell asleep properly at six o’clock in the morning, when he could see the sky beginning to lift from inky black to deep blue. He slept until ten, when a car horn blared outside and jolted him awake with a distressed shout.

He rubbed his eyes and breathed for a few minutes, getting his breath back, slowing his heart rate, very consciously not crying at the utter desperation he was feeling in his chest. He wished he’d woken up with Sebastian next to him.

He jumped again when his phone vibrated on his bedside table, and, after a second of stunned silence, he leapt across the bed to retrieve it.

_So sorry for being an arse last night. I didn’t mean what I said. Forgive me? SM_

John, again, almost threw his heart up.

I’m sorry, too. Of course I’ll forgive you, you idiot. I promise I won’t pry any more, okay? I mean it. JW

_Thank you. SM x_

His toes went numb as he collapsed backwards onto the bed, light with relief. He was okay. They were okay.

With fresh bounce in his fingers, John started asking around and confirming details for the piss-up that night. Sebastian still seemed tentative in his agreement, so John didn’t bother him too much past getting him to relent in case he changed his mind, but the few other people going seemed very enthusiastic and keen to have a couple of newbies hanging on. John supposed they were excited for the fresh meat, and he didn’t mind too much. He still couldn’t believe he was getting friends.

They met at seven for dinner. Sebastian had come to John’s at six, where he’d been given a few kisses in reconciliation for the little tiff last night and a pep talk in advance for the activities they had planned for this one. They met John’s gym buddies (a strange lot they were, some big and some small, a few that looked like bodybuilders and a few that looked like they’d blow over in a light breeze) in Central London just after seven o’clock, and they went into a calm, jazzy pub for dinner and a few beers.

After that, the real fun started. It was a real pub-crawl, one of the sort that John hadn’t experienced in decades. He would have been lost in the city even if he’d been sober, but being drunk had its advantages when he realised that he didn’t even _care_ that nobody had any idea where they were or where the next bar was. He and Sebastian became steadily more and more frisky with each other as the night wore on, and by the time they were in the fourth pub John was feeling multiple squeezes and pinches at his arse from big, familiar hands. At one point, he’d almost kissed another man because he’d so quickly and instinctively turned around for a snog.

Of course, all of the men he was with were mocking them all night.

_“Wahey, John’s got himself a nice one there!”_

_“Oh, John, you’re doing alright for yourself, hm?”_

_“I’ll have whatever that one’s been having!”_

Pink rose in Sebastian’s cheeks multiple times, but all of their jibes were friendly and good-natured, and, John had to admit, he was enjoying all of the attention they were getting from the group. A couple of the guys had wives, one of them had a boyfriend, one of them even had a kid, but every one of them, in their own way, made an appreciative comment to how well John had done.

Well, he mostly enjoyed the attention. He wasn’t sure he was still enjoying it when it began to feet like they were less and less complimenting Sebastian and more and more insulting him. For a second, a flash of white-hot rage sparked in his chest. That was when he realised he was getting a little bit too pissed. _Not good,_ he thought, and, God, even his _mental_ speech was slurred. _Nooot good. Bit drunk. No punch-ups, Captain… Contain yourself._

John said his goodbyes after that. It was just after one o’clock, so he thought he’d done pretty well, and the lads seemed happy to let he and Sebastian break away. Most of them had been excited for the pair of them to leave as soon as possible – clearly they thought they knew what was on the cards for the pair that night.

They weren’t far off. Bang on, in fact.

John toppled into his house firmly suckered to Sebastian’s mouth and firmly rock hard. He kicked the door shut with a harsh slam and dragged him into the bedroom. Jackets, shoes, and shirts went flying in all directions all over the bungalow and he didn’t give two shits where they landed. He could have thrown them in a fire and not realised as he pulled Sebastian down on top of him and shoved the lube at his chest.

When Sebastian’s hand went to curl around his cock, he made a whine of protest. Sebastian pulled back with a whine of his own, more questioning. John reached down between them, took his hand, and pushed it further back. Sebastian raised his eyebrows.

“Y’sure?” he breathed.

“Pos’tive,” John mumbled, spreading his legs a bit further to emphasise his confidence.

“How…” Sebastian licked his lips and swallowed. John could almost see the cotton behind his eyes. “You mean like…”

With a goofy grin, he fumbled around in the drawer of the table until he brought out a condom, waving it around under Sebastian’s nose.

Sebastian grinned, beginning to giggle hysterically. He opened his mouth, took the condom between his teeth, and slid it out from between John’s fingers.

“Fuck,” John whispered, combing his hands into Sebastian’s hair.

Sebastian laughed again and then finally started moving his hand, rubbing John’s hole with a sticky, lubricated finger.

He tried to take it slow, he really did, but John was astonishingly receptive to everything he was doing. As he was rolling on the condom it felt like only a minute had passed, but John was panting and moaning like they’d been at it for hours already.

Sebastian lined up and pushed, John groaning beneath him. He pressed in until the head of his cock was firmly situated and then he paused. John could feel why; Sebastian felt massive, like he was pulling him apart at the seams, and it wasn’t entirely pleasurable just yet. He’d counted the fingers, there had definitely been three, but, well... Sebastian was big.

“Hold on,” John squeaked, and he saw Sebastian’s eyes flutter closed and his mouth drop open as he worked his muscles to try and ease them loose. “Fucking hell, Seb.”

“S-sorry,” he breathed. He put his hand down and tugged sharply on his balls.

“You… okay?” John put his hands on the nape of Sebastian’s neck and started combing through the short fuzz of hair he had, still wincing slightly.

Sebastian nodded. “Jesus, yes. Yes, yes, yes. Very okay.”

John laughed, and Sebastian moaned.

“Fucking hell,” he panted, “I c’feel everything.”

John pulled his head down and kissed him hard. Then, lips by his ear, he whispered, “Move.”

Sebastian did. He went slowly, easing himself in inch by inch until he was about halfway, and then he pulled out and thrusted gently.

John let out a quiet moan as the cock rubbed against his prostate, first on the way out and then again on the way in, but his eyebrows were still knotted uncomfortably.

“You’re so tight,” Sebastian grunted, drawing out again.

“Should have…” John moaned gently. “Oh, I should’ve tried it on my own first. I haven’t… haven’t done this’n years, Seb. Shit, I didn’t— fuck, I’m sorry. ‘m not a virgin or anything, I swear.”

Sebastian huffed a breathless laugh and kissed him. “I don’t care, John,” he said earnestly, and he kissed him again. “You feel f’ntastic. I just don’t wanna hurt you.”

“It’s getting better,” he said, stroking a hand down Sebastian’s back. “Promise, ’s getting better. It feel better?”

“It feels…” Sebastian laughed, hanging his heavy head. “Feels less like I’m ‘bout to go off any second.”

John laughed again and Sebastian tensed all over, moaning in response. “Go on,” he said, tugging at Sebastian’s back.

He complied. He started pulling out and pushing in at a much more regular, if slow, pace, and John was keen to let him know what was good. He felt that it was painfully clear to Sebastian how long it had been since he’d done it, from his long moans and tensed expression, but he was also far too gone to care.

“Fuck,” he grunted, wrapping his legs around Sebastian’s waist and pulling him in deeper with his next thrust. “God, _yes_ , do it.”

As Sebastian moved closer, stayed deeper with shorter thrusts, John buried his face in his neck and rubbed his nose over the skin just under his ear. Yes, there it was, that smell of sex and sweat and Sebastian and _something else._ John opened his eyes and moved his face, resting his cheek on his shoulder but facing the other way. He couldn’t help it. He hated the mystery undertone that Sebastian’s scent held. His attention was immediately called back to the situation at hand, and he moaned again as Sebastian’s hand found his balls. They were stomach-to-stomach now, his cock getting squeezed and rubbed between both of their middles.

“John, I’m—I’m g’nna, I…” He trailed off into a stream of faster thrusts.

“Yes, God, _yes_ ,” John cried in reply, and his balls clenched and his passage tightened around Sebastian’s cock and he came, semen being spread further around their torsos with Sebastian’s every thrust – though he only managed two more before he came, too, a string of John’s name and expletives and moans falling from his drunken lips.

John jerked when Sebastian pulled out, having almost fallen asleep. The condom was wrapped in a tissue and put on the bedside table for later disposal, and Sebastian was kind enough to wipe them both down with another before flopping onto the bed next to him. He pulled John close, put his hand on his heaving chest, held him tight.

John yawned, nestling back into Sebastian’s embrace and ignoring the bleary light-headedness. He had something to say.

“Seb?” he drawled, patting the alpha’s hand.

Sebastian grunted.

“Listen t’me,” John whined, patting it again. “I got a quest’n to ask you.”

Sebastian grunted again.

“Would you ever share a house w’me?” he asked quietly. He frowned in the dark, eyes glued closed for now. Sebastian didn’t make a sound. “Seb?”

He grunted.

“Would you? ‘f we… y’know, if we settled down. Would you?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian admitted quietly. He kissed the back of John’s neck, leaving a cool wet patch.

“You’d settle down w’me, then?”

“Yeah,” he said again, pressing his cheek to the kiss he’d left.

“Anything else?” John asked, turning his head towards him.

Sebastian sighed through his nose. “Mm… What’re you asking?”

John smiled to himself and turned back. “Would you leave th’programme w’me?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian said immediately.

John paused for a moment. He wasn’t sure how far he was allowed to go. “‘d you bond w’me?”

“Pffff. Yeah. Course.”

“Share m’next heat?”

“Any y’wanted me to.”

John went quiet again. He turned his head towards Sebastian again. “‘d you have a kid w’me?”

There was quiet for a few seconds. Then Sebastian placed another kiss on his neck. “Yes. ‘f you  wanted.”

John smiled. He rolled over and snuggled up close to Sebastian, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Okay,” he murmured, but there was one more thing on his mind. He looked up and pecked Sebastian’s chin. “I love you.”

Sebastian dropped his face down. He watched John for a second, though he could hardly see his face in the dark. He kissed him. “I love you, too.”


	9. Chapter 9

_it was carnage slaughter massacre butchery and raw gruesome bloodshed gore and horrific terrified trembling panic and choking constrictive gasping suffocating in burning agony throbbing anguished torment tension harrowing lacerations pummelling he was mangled maimed brutality their fierce savagery vicious maniacal torture—_

John opened his eyes and flailed, smacking his assailant in the face with as much force as he could muster, a raw scream breaking his lips. He stayed sat up, the duvet clutched to his heaving chest, and brought a shaking fist to his face to rub hard at his eyes. Eventually, he began taking in the darkness and the soft bed beneath him and, oh, the hissing Sebastian next to him.

“Seb?” he whispered, still breathless. “You awake?”

“Yeah,” he grunted, and he turned around, hand clasped to his cheek. “Are you alright?”

John nodded. "Y-yeah,” he muttered. He dropped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes. “Fuck. No. Not really.”

Sebastian took his hand from his face and wrapped his arms around John, kissing his sweat-damp hair. John couldn’t stop the fat teardrops from overflowing and spilling down his cheeks, but he did his best to stay quiet and keep as still as he could to let the alpha’s warm body comfort him, because his disconcerting scent certainly wasn’t doing much to help. He could feel Sebastian’s arms rise and fall with every shiver of his shoulders, but never move a muscle from the strong embrace he had.

“It’s alright,” he muttered, nuzzling John’s head. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

John nodded, falling sideways into Sebastian’s hold and covering his face with his hands. It was embarrassing enough to be having nightmares straight after they'd gone the whole way for the first time, but crying about them was even more unbearably pathetic. Plus, as if he wasn’t feeling bad enough, the hangover was already beginning to settle. His head had doubled in weight and density in the last few seconds, his body couldn’t decide whether to emphasise his burning fever or his cold sweat, and everything he’d consumed in the last twelve hours was stuck at the back of his throat, just waiting for him to cough.

It took a long time for his sniffles to die down, and by then a reasonably-sized pile of wet tissues had formed next to him. Sebastian hadn’t let go of him once except to reach across and put the tissue box within easier reach. After a while, when John's occasional sharp sniffs had turned into deep, miserable sighs, he felt himself being eased back onto the bed and cuddled close to Sebastian's chest.

"Sorry," he muttered, sniffing again. He stared at Sebastian's lean chest in the dark.

"Nothing to apologise for." Sebastian kissed his head. "Go back to sleep."

John returned a kiss to his bare breast and then rested his cheek against the smooth muscles, forcing his nose to ignore the red flag in his alpha scent.

He woke up alone the next morning, feeling rough, to say the least. The clock said it was ten o'clock, and when he sat up and put his stiff face in his hands, he spotted a bucket on the floor next to him. He sat, confused, for a moment, because surely he hadn't had the foresight to give himself a sick bucket last night – and where had Sebastian gone, anyway?

A few soft clinks drifted through the little crack where his bedroom door had been left ajar, and he blinked. Sebastian, he remembered, and he took a moment to run over the evening in his head and make sure he wasn't missing anything major. Dinner, bars, sex, embarrassing post-coital heart-to-heart. The usual, it seemed. He didn't think his hangover was bad enough for a gap in his memory, but checking was always reassuring. Well, as reassuring as it could be when he was verging on throwing up and dying of shame from the intimate questions he'd brought up the night (morning?) before.

A heaven-sent sign then, thankfully, dragged him from his cringes to his dressing gown: bacon.

"Morning, sunshine," Sebastian sang as John appeared in the doorway. He’d put on the pyjama trousers that were now kept in the top drawer of his nightstand. He was stood at the cooker, with bacon crackling in a frying pan in front of him, two plates with two slices of toast each on the counter next to him, and two cups of coffee on the table behind him. He pointed his spatula from John to the table. “Sit.”

John had to bite his lips to contain the broad grin, but he couldn’t help the faint blush rising in his cheeks. “What are you doing making me breakfast in my own house?”

“I’ve been staying here so much recently that it may as well be mine, too,” Sebastian replied with a shrug. “How do you like your bacon?”

“Crisped,” John answered. “One of these yours?”

“The darker one. Got sugar in it.”

John took the lighter coffee and had a few life-saving sips, sighing gratefully. Sebastian smiled and plated up the food, mashing the toast into a sort of bacon sandwich. Then he set both plates on the table with a bottle of ketchup and took a seat.

“Feeling alright?” he asked, eyeing John with an amused twitch of his lips.

“Fine,” John muttered, raising his eyebrows. He batted his eyelashes as he pulled his plate towards him. “Why do you ask?”

Sebastian smiled. “No reason. Had a bit to drink last night, that’s all.”

“Mm,” John hummed, frowning slightly. “A bucket had mysteriously appeared by my bed when I woke up this morning. Any ideas?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I didn’t think so. Because I can handle my drinks.” John pursed his lips challengingly.

“Never said you couldn’t.”

John smiled at him, and then his eyes caught the red marks over his cheek. His left cheek – the one with the scar, so John hadn’t noticed at first – was definitely a little bit too pink, and there were a few faint pink scratches across it.

“What’s that?” John asked through a mouthful of bacon. He waved his sandwich towards Sebastian’s cheek. “What happened to your face?”

Sebastian blinked, frowned, and then shook his head. He rubbed his face. “Nothing? Dunno. Something on it?”

John stared for a second, and then he looked down at his plate as he remembered, swallowing. “Oh,” he breathed, and the events of the night eased their way back to the front of his mind. The nightmare, the way Sebastian had been holding his face. Of course. “I’m so sorry.”

Sebastian waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter.”

“No, really, I’m… really sorry.” John put his sandwich down and took a sip of his coffee, frowning down at the table. “Does it hurt?”

“I’ve had worse,” Sebastian said, and his voice held a much more serious tone than John had expected from the words. He looked up, saw Sebastian’s ‘seriously?’ look, and his eyes roamed the cheek again.

“Right,” John said, nodding as he took in the twisted scar. “Yes, God. Sorry.”

John felt bare feet brush his own under the table. “It’s fine, John. I was expecting it. I wasn’t too delicate. Not good at being delicate.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

John shook his head and refocused his mind. “Let’s talk about something else.” He looked up determinedly.

Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “You sound… like you have some things to say.”

John blushed and picked up his sandwich, dropping his gaze to his drink. “Do you remember last night? All of it?”

“Every word.”

“What about the bit…” John could feel Sebastian’s eyes on him, but he continued to stare religiously into his coffee. “Do you remember what we said after… after we did it?”

“Yes.”

“And did you mean it?”

“Yes.”

John looked up at him; he looked amused. That look made John completely doubt that he remembered all of it. “Tell me, then.”

“Tell you what?” Sebastian scoffed and picked up the second half of his breakfast.

“What you said.”

Sebastian sighed. “I told you that… well, that I wouldn’t mind. I mean, that I’d say yes, if you wanted to bond with me. And that I’d share any heat with you that you wanted, and I’d definitely settle down with you. Even… even have a kid with you, even now. If you wanted.”

John smiled at the blush blooming across Sebastian’s cheeks. Then it grew into a grin, and then he was laughing softly, covering his mouth as crumbs dropped from his lips. “You forgot one thing,” he said, voice muffled with toast.

Sebastian grunted, hiding behind his mug.

“I love you.”

He looked up and smiled, his eyes crinkling sweetly. “I love you, too.”

After breakfast, they showered together, and then John pulled his damp Sebastian into bed. He wrapped him up in his arms, spooning him, and it felt good for John to be the one in control for a change. He stroked his hand through Sebastian’s hair, speaking softly into his ear even though he knew nobody could hear them. It just seemed like that sort of subject.

“Do you want to, then?” he asked, slightly breathless with the idea.

“What?” Sebastian asked, his eyes closed.

“Do it. Share a heat with me. Settle down with me.” He paused. “Have a baby with me.”

Sebastian was quiet for a moment before he turned over in John’s arms. He stared up at him. “When are you due?”

John frowned as he thought about it. “What’s the date?”

“Twenty-seventh,” Sebastian answered, running his warm hand up and down John’s back. “Saturday. Day after my birthday.”

John smiled. “That reminds me. Welcome to your thirties.” He pecked his nose.

“Thanks, but I’d much rather know when your next heat is than think about my age.”

“Possibly within the week. Perhaps two, but I don’t think it’ll hold out for that long, even with my body’s awful calendar. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it, actually, so this… Good timing.” John swallowed uncertainly.

Sebastian laughed. “What do you want, John?”

“What do you mean?” John nosed into his hair.

“Tell me where you see yourself in a month, a year, five years. I want to know what you want.” He paused. “And don’t hold back. You won’t scare me away, I promise – I just told you I want to have a baby with you.”

John ran his fingers through Sebastian’s hair over and over again, his mind whirring. He was beginning to realise how close to his grip his stupid familial fantasies were. They weren’t just a far-off dream of an imaginary alpha loving him, wanting to buy a house with him, have kids with him. They were more like real possibilities of a life he could actually have if he only had the balls to speak up about it – and here was his chance. He closed his eyes and thought about it, really thought about it, because yes, he was aching to bond, share his heat, and have a child with Sebastian. The only thing stopping him was the fact that they’d only known each other a month.

“Tell me, John,” Sebastian reminded him gently, patting his back. “Please.”

John swallowed. His breathing had picked up slightly, and his eyes were wide as he stared at the wall ahead of him. “I want to get out of here,” he admitted at barely a whisper. “It’s comfortable, the people are nice; that’s not my issue. I want to leave, and… have my own life. Without filing all of this personal information, or getting benefits or… or getting _anything_ just because I’m lonely.” He breathed. “I want to leave, and take you with me. And I’d like us to get a place together. Somewhere to share. You could keep your flat, though. You’d need your own space, and that’s fine, I don’t mind. But I want to have a place that’s ours, too. I don’t want somewhere that’s dusty and empty and only ours because the government says so, I want somewhere that we’ve bought and made our own together.”

John found himself quiet again. He took a few more seconds to weigh his situation up, feel the ever-present itch under his skin. It was still there; of course it was still there. He didn’t think it would ever go away. He’d gotten fit and it was still there. He’d found himself an alpha and fallen in love, and it was still there. The only thing left to try was fulfilling his most primitive ache.

“And I’d like to have a baby,” he said, “I think.”

He could imagine it now. There’d be tantrums and shrieking and ten feeds a night, and they’d have their own little person made up entirely of them. John had dreamt about having a family for years, especially when he’d been so far away from domestic life in Afghanistan. Now, he finally had the chance. He could do it.

“Yes,” he decided, smiling. He relaxed slightly. “I’d like to have a baby one day.”

“Then let’s do it,” Sebastian suggested. His voice seemed oddly calm and quiet for the drastic lifestyle change he was proposing. He moved back so he could look at John. “Let’s have a baby and move away. Let’s get our own life.” He grinned and planted a kiss on John’s lips. “I’d love to have a life with you.”

John’s eyes widened. “Okay,” he breathed. His lips were moving with no concept of any other answer to be given: how could he ever say no?

It was a done deal. John’s heat would be on them within two weeks (maybe), and they were going to stock up on microwave meals and go for it.

Privately, John worried about his suitability to what they were about to undertake. He wasn’t old, certainly not, but he was hardly in the first flower of youth when it came to fertility, and his heats had never been regular and predictable. He could only ever estimate them as every two months, give or take two weeks, and even then they varied from lasting two days to lasting over a week. Worse than their unpredictability, they’d less and less been lasting even three or four days.

Worse than that, he hadn’t had a full-blown, sex-craving heat in months, maybe years. The ones he got these days were nothing like how they’d used to be back when he’d had love interests and a libido.

Worse than _that_ , he hadn’t experienced a single heat for the last six months.

He kept all of this to himself, of course, not wanting to hurt Sebastian. He booked an appointment with his doctor in private, and while Sebastian was at work on Monday he saw it through. The doctor wasn’t an expert, and John had known that when he’d called him, but he gave John a quick internal examination to check his general health and sent him on his way with an appointment at the local gynecology clinic. It was better than nothing, he supposed.

The appointment was for as soon as the clinic could take him, which turned out to be Thursday. It was getting dangerously close to the week mark that he’d given Sebastian for his heat’s due date. How was he supposed to know it wouldn’t randomly turn up by then? He was going by the date he’d had his last heat. God knew where he was at in the cycle now.

He was at the gynecology clinic for an hour, having ultrasounds, blood tests, urine tests, and endless swabs and cameras being stuck into every orifice on the lower half of his body. He felt like he’d been wrung out like a wet cloth by the time they told him he could put his clothes back on, and his hands were shaking slightly as he did up his shirt buttons. It had been intrusive. Far too intrusive. He hadn’t been prepared. But that was okay, he told himself, because they were just doing their jobs, and they were going to fix him, and then he and Sebastian would move away and get their lives back. That was the plan.

John got home that afternoon to find Sebastian sitting on his doorstep again, and he vowed to get him a key as soon as he could face leaving the house again.

“John?” Sebastian asked, frowning and getting up as soon as he saw him at the gate. “What’s wrong, where have you been? What’s happened?”

John jumped and stared at Sebastian. The tests had left him feeling tense and exhausted, and a distinct sense of nausea was hanging around his probed abdomen, but he didn’t think he really looked that unsettled.

“Just… nowhere. I don’t feel well.” John pushed past him and unlocked the door. “I’ll get you a key soon. Sorry I keep forgetting.”

“I don’t care. I’d wait days for you.” Sebastian put his hand on John’s back, slid it over to his shoulder, and tried to ease him around. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” John shook his head and tried to smile. “Just want to go to bed.”

Sebastian nodded. His hand returned to John’s back, pushing him towards his bedroom. “Go on, then. I’ll get your bucket back.”

John snorted and plodded into the bedroom. He didn’t even bother taking off his coat and shoes, just flopping face-first onto the bed and burying his head in the pillows. He didn’t know how much time passed before Sebastian was there, taking his shoes off, pulling his arms from his coat, tucking the duvet around him.

“I brought you a glass of water,” he said softly.

John didn’t reply. After another minute of silence, the bed dipped and Sebastian climbed up next to him, pulling him into one of their habitual spooning cuddles. John lifted his face from the pillows and stared at the wall. Silence reigned for a little while longer.

“I haven’t had a heat in half a year, Seb,” he admitted quietly, still staring at the same patch of beige. “The last two I had only lasted two days.”

“Oh,” Sebastian said softly. His arms tightened around John.

“I went to see a gynecologist today.” He swallowed. Almost without thinking, he shuffled back further into Sebastian’s embrace. “They’re not gentle ladies, in case you were wondering.”

“Oh, John,” Sebastian whispered, rubbing John’s stomach. He kissed his neck. “It’s okay. I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”

John closed his eyes and put all of his focus into enjoying the soothing affection. “I know. I should have mentioned it before. Just… mm.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he reassured him. “I thought heats and periods skipped all the time.”

“They do,” John said reasonably, “but not three in a row. I only ever had them once every two months anyway.” He took a deep breath. “I’m really not sure if we’ll ever be able to… I mean that… I mean, my heats weren’t normal when I got home from Afghanistan. They haven’t been normal since I got off the suppressants, that’s why I don’t take them anymore. I kept hoping it’d sort itself out, but it just, it never got better.” John turned his face back into his pillows. He wasn’t going to cry again, he _wasn’t_. What sort of an emotional wreck was he these days?

“Hey,” Sebastian said, “hey, come on, don’t do that. You didn’t have an alpha before, did you? Well, you’ve got one now. It’s going to be okay. No matter what happens, I promise you, it’s going to be okay.”

John nodded. His test results wouldn’t be back for weeks, but he didn’t have to lie anymore – not that he’d done much lying in the first place. At least Sebastian knew what to expect from him now. At least, he hoped, he wouldn’t be too disappointed.

As it turned out, John didn’t have anything to worry about anyway. That Sunday, a week after he and Sebastian had made their promises and plans, he went into heat.


	10. Chapter 10

The heat started on Sunday, and it was just as miserable as he remembered it being all the rest of the times he’d had heats. He was burning hot, and hadn't yet had the heart to change out of his sweat-dampened pyjama bottoms. He wasn't out of bed yet, either, but rather on top of it, with his limbs sprawled like a starfish. All of his energy had drained throughout the morning, despite not a single movement having been made, and all he could do was lie in bed and be miserable. To top it all off, he was feeling sick, too – a nauseous kind of sick that came right from the pit of his upset stomach.

"I think it's my heat," he whined, keeping his eyes closed.

Sebastian was sat on the edge of the bed next to him. He was quiet for a moment. "I think you've got a bug."

"It's not a bug."

"It doesn't look like heat to me," Sebastian said, and his voice was hard.

If John’s eyes had been open, they'd have rolled so hard they’d have disappeared across the room and under his chest of drawers. "I'm not imagining things, you idiot, this is how they start. I know it’s not a bug because my arse is really fucking starting to hurt. I know my own body and I’m telling you, it's a heat."

Sebastian glanced down at John's crotch. "Are you going to feel sick the whole way through?"

"I don't think so. I hope not." John groaned and rolled onto his side, bringing his knees up to his chest to try and relieve the tension in his backside.

Sebastian put a hand on his leg and rubbed with his thumb. "To be honest, John, if your heats only last two days and you spend the first one feeling too ill to move, I don't think we're going to be able to do... the things we wanted to do."

John couldn't help but huff a quiet laugh. "Piss off. Just trust me, okay? I need a cold flannel. Not lukewarm, cold."

Sebastian was up and off immediately, and John could hear the water scraping through the pipes as he wet a flannel. Breathing deeply to try and keep the sick down, he sighed and rubbed his face as he waited. He'd feel better when he cooled down, he thought. All that was wrong with him right now was that he was too hot. That made no sense, because it was called a 'heat' for a reason, but he really did feel like all that was wrong was he was too hot – and like there was a razor blade lodged in his back passage, but painkillers would ease that soon enough.

Said painkillers were delivered to him with a glass of water next, and he took them as he held the cold flannel to his bare, burning chest. He'd asked for a bowl of water, too, so he could wring the flannel out when it got warm, and then he let Sebastian off.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to sit with you?”  
John shook his head. “Can’t. Too hot. I’m taking up the whole bed anyway.”

“Must be better than suffering on your own.”

“I won’t be on my own. You’re right here.” John, eyes closed, waved his hand in the vague direction of Sebastian’s voice.

“What if I sit and don’t touch?”

John shook his head again, whining. “You’ll be bored. Just go and watch telly, I’ll be fine. Done this loads of times, okay?”

Sebastian sighed. “You don’t look well, John.”

“That’s because I’m not well.” John rolled over onto his front and laid the flannel across the back of his neck. All of the windows were closed to keep his sweetened scent in, but he needed cooler air. He was suffocating. “There’s a fan in my wardrobe and a plug socket behind your bedside table.”

John heard Sebastian sigh, and he could just imagine him shifting from foot to foot, staring at the floor, scratching the back of his neck, before he gave in and walked across the room. The wardrobe was practically empty, with only a few plain shirts hanging on just four hangers.

“Can’t see it,” Sebastian said, glancing at the pile of towels, blankets, and general crap at the bottom of the wardrobe.

“Check the bottom. Might be under some of the blankets. God, I keep meaning to tidy them up, but I never use the damned thing…” John rambled. He trailed off with a sigh as he heard Sebastian rifle through the bottom of his wardrobe, the rustling and clunking allowing John to mentally map out what he was rifling through. _Shoebox, plastic bag of last year’s useless Christmas presents, empty tissue box he kept forgetting to recycle, bunch of medical records, box with army keepsakes..._

Then, a second too late, he realised where Sebastian’s hands were headed. With a loud, heavy thud, something bounced onto his carpet and a little way across the floor. John sat up and turned around immediately, staring in horror at the thing glinting in the sunlight on the floor before glancing up at Sebastian. He was staring down at it with his mouth agape.

“What?” the alpha snapped, eyes remaining on the gun. “What the fuck have you got that for?”

John shook his head and scrambled down onto the floor, but Sebastian was far closer. He snatched it up and held it away. The large hand clasped the handle and rested on the trigger comfortably, automatically: one of the only clues John had (other than the ever-present identity tags under Sebastian’s shirt) of the man’s military past. His face had hardened and held a strange expression. He wasn’t disappointed, or even scared – he looked wary, as if John had been keeping something from him that was going to change everything.

“No,” he said, putting his hand out to keep John away, “you tell me where you got it from and why you’re keeping it.”

John gulped. He opened his mouth but nothing came out, and his hands had started shaking. “P-please let me explain.”

Sebastian cocked an eyebrow. “I am. _Explain_.” He shook the gun in emphasis.

John jumped at the harsh tone his voice had taken on. There he was, John realised: the alpha, the colonel. John had only met the soldier so far, it seemed, only the damaged soldier. Now he was meeting the colonel, and he wasn’t sure he liked him very much.

“I stole it,” he said brokenly, holding his hands up. Why did it suddenly feel like this man was ten seconds away from pointing his own gun at him? “I brought it home with me. F-from Afghanistan, years ago. I was in a bad place. It… it made me feel safe.”

Sebastian looked John over, squinted, scrutinised him. He felt like he was being weighed up.

“I was never going to kill you,” he said incredulously. Perhaps that was what had gotten Sebastian so riled up, perhaps this was an episode he was having, a flashback to his colonel days. “I wasn’t going to use it, Seb, not ever. I’d forgotten it was even there. I don’t need it anymore. I love you.”

Sebastian looked John over again, and then he took a breath, systematically collecting himself back to his normal state. He put the gun on the floor and put his hands out towards John, shuffling forwards, though he still looked pent up and on the disgruntled side of uncertain. John advanced, too, and drew Sebastian into his arms, calming down as he relaxed against the alpha. Sebastian still seemed tensed for a fight, and John had to admit that his reaction had definitely not been ordinary, but he reminded himself that Sebastian had been in the army. He knew about guns, and seeing one wouldn’t have shocked or scared him to the extent it would have a normal civilian.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian ground out, starting to rub John’s back. “You don’t need this right now. Come on, get back into bed.”

John shook his head, and then rubbed his eyes as he sat back on his heels. “I don’t know what’s going on, I can hardly think. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Sebastian slipped his arms under John’s and lifted him up, depositing him back onto the bed. “I’ll have a look in your loft for the fan. Just sit down for a minute.”

“God, I forgot about the loft. Course, it’ll be in the loft.” He buried his face in the pillows and waited. He’d forgotten whether or not he’d ever even told Sebastian he _had_ a loft.

Ten minutes later, Sebastian had returned. He was covered in dust bunnies, and the blue plastic fan had turned grey with its coating of dirt, but he blew it off and got it going on the bedside table.

“That okay?” he asked, brushing his hands off on his pyjama trousers. He looked much more like himself. John nodded. “Mind if I shower?” he asked. John shook his head.

“Have you got clothes?” he called, lifting his face as Sebastian walked out.

“I do,” he answered over his shoulder.

John dropped his face back into his pillows and lifted his arm over his head, letting the cool air roll over his side and back. He heard the pipes rumbling as Sebastian showered, heard him unzip his tote bag in the hall, heard the muffled swishes of clothing and scraping of zips as he got dressed. He didn’t disturb John at all. The scent must have been changing by the time the afternoon properly rolled around, but he didn’t hear any grunts or groans of frustration. He appreciated that.

He was in bed all day, drenched in his own sweat and on the verge of being sick. The painkillers had worn off after a little while but he didn’t have the heart to call out for more, too afraid that if he opened his mouth he really would be sick. It became difficult to ignore the ache in his backside as his muscles twisted and pulled to better accommodate an alpha – it was an eye-watering ache from the inside out every time he rolled over. He knew, thinking rationally, that other omegas had far worse heats than he. When he'd been training he'd come across an omega who experienced chronic anal pain throughout every day of every heat he ever had, and it was due to muscle tension. The poor guy hadn't ever been able to sustain a long-term sexual relationship with an alpha because it was just that uncomfortable – for both parties, apparently. John found himself eternally grateful for his short-term discomfort, but he still suffered in his own ways. He was lucky, he supposed, that painkillers worked at all.

It wasn't until about midnight that his symptoms began to abate. He'd woken up from a nap with a significantly lighter feeling in his bum and the ability to sit up without his stomach taking a nasty turn. He felt a lot cooler, as well, and the fan was now sending goosebumps along his arms and buttocks instead of relieving waves of cool breeze. He was pleased to find that he felt distinctly chilled, in fact, so he threw an arm out and smacked the ‘0’ button to turn it off. Then he sighed happily. The sweat had dried onto his cooled body, which was both parts a good and a bad thing. Though it meant that his heat was finally advancing past its gruelling first stage, it also meant that he stank to the high heavens and was in desperate need of a shower. Even from the gym, he didn't think he'd ever come home feeling so... _crusty._ Were people supposed to be able to smell themselves?

John was happy to be able to stand up and plod into the shower. The newfound freedom he had to walk around without almost being sick was making him feel even better as he closed the door behind him and set the shower temperature just below his usual warmth; he wanted to retain his average temperature for as long as he could, and God forbid the dreaded fever came back because of a stupid shower.

Just as he was rinsing his hair, he felt a hot drip of fluid slide down his insides, and he shivered. It was starting, then. He couldn’t feel it ooze out just yet but he was sure that stage would come later on, so he took an absorbent pad from the cabinet on his way out of the bathroom so he wouldn’t soak through his pyjamas.

He felt much better after his shower. He felt clean, fragrant, and generally much more human. Standing proud as he made his way back into the bedroom, he slipped into a pair of underwear (he wouldn’t have bothered usually, but the pad wouldn’t work if it was just on his trousers) and then some soft, clean pyjama bottoms. After rubbing his hair mostly dry, he stilled for a moment in front of the mirror. His eyes roamed the mussed hair and pink cheeks in front of him, and he squirmed on the spot, trying to work out if the buzz in his groin meant he was ready or still warming up. He smiled slightly as he made up his mind, and then he draped the towel over the radiator to dry and made his way to the living room.

It was dark, with just the flashing of the muted TV to light his figure as he stood in the doorway. Sebastian had fallen asleep, and John was almost loathe to wake him from the dead slumber he seemed to be in. Almost.

He eased himself onto the sofa next to Sebastian, sitting on his heels as he stroked a soft hand through the thick blonde hair. He shuffled closer, tipped his face into Sebastian’s shoulder, took a deep smell. He sighed contentedly as he noticed that any of what he’d been smelling in the weeks before seemed to have disappeared. For now, Sebastian was just an alpha, and that was good, so good.

He very gently moved until he was straddling his lap with a knee on either side of his thighs. He could feel his cock stirring already, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself at the pure satisfaction he was getting from the situation he was in. He was on his own in a dark room with a sleeping alpha between his thighs, just on the edge of heat: nothing felt better than this. He decided to wake Sebastian with a kiss, and he eased his lips over the still ones, licking gently over his bottom lip. He felt Sebastian’s head move and pulled away, staring down at him with soft eyes and an open-mouthed smile. He rocked forwards and rubbed his hardened groin against Sebastian’s abdomen.

Hands slid up his back and pulled him closer. They slid further, to the nape of his neck, and then fingers combed into his hair and pulled his head back. Sebastian’s head dropped forwards and his nose tucked into John’s neck, inhaling gently. He kissed the little patch he’d sniffed and then put John’s head back, catching his lips again.

“Sure?” he asked gently, kissing his chin.

John nodded. “Just…” He grunted and took Sebastian’s forearm, sliding his hand down to his wrist until he could hold his hand. He placed his hand on his crotch and squeezed the fingers, securing a firm but not hard grip around his member. “Just this. Please.”

Sebastian seemed happy to oblige. He gave a gentle squeeze to the handful he had and then moved to the waistband of John’s trousers, putting his hand in and between layers until he was gripping John’s bare cock. John sighed gently and rocked up into his hand, moaning as Sebastian got the hint and started running his fist up and down.

“Okay?” Sebastian asked, breathing the words against John’s neck as he sucked and nipped. “More?”

John shook his head with a negative breath. “Keep with that,” he panted, dropping his cheek to Sebastian’s head and sliding his hands into his hair. “Just need this. Little bit.”

He moved his hand in even more, rubbing his fingers over John’s balls, and John groaned.

“Yes,” he breathed, fingers digging into Sebastian’s head as the hand moved back to his cock. “Bit more. Bit more. Close.”

Sebastian tightened his hold and moved his hand faster, focusing more on just the tip of John’s cock. He brought his other hand around from his back and used it to hold the waistband of John’s bottoms open, and when John finally grunted, tensed, and came, his ejaculate was shot all up his own bare front as opposed to on any clothes. Sebastian smiled and kissed his neck again.

“Better?”

“Yes,” John nodded, sighing as he dropped his head. “Thank you. Do you want me to, um…”

“No, it’s fine,” Sebastian answered. He patted John’s back. “Up. You need a tissue.”

“I need a bed,” he responded, closing his eyes. He rolled away from Sebastian, making sure his waistbands weren’t sitting on any spunk, and then pulled himself up on jellied knees. Sebastian took his hand and went with him, following him to the bedroom.

John didn’t have the right head on to be thinking about Sebastian’s needs, so he cleaned up and fell asleep within minutes of being settled in his bed. He had an easy, dream-free night, but he woke up far too early for his liking. It was comforting, however, that he wasn’t waking up rolling around in his own lubricant and ejaculate, as he sometimes had in the past. Instead he had a very calm waking where he opened his eyes and watched Sebastian for a few minutes, wondering whether it was fair to wake him up when his urges weren’t too strong yet.

The sunlight was streaming in through the window and he squirmed slightly, feeling how wet the pad was under his bum. It wasn’t soaked, but he knew he’d definitely be sticky. A fresh droplet streaked his insides and dribbled down his crack as he sat there, and he shivered as he had the day before in the shower. He sat still for a little while, refusing to move and feel all of his skin and muscles rubbing together to work him up beyond relief.

A little while later, Sebastian inhaled deeply through his nose and rolled over to face him, his mouth falling open slightly. “John,” he murmured.

“Morning,” John struggled, teeth clenched as he stared up at the ceiling, tense as a rock. Sebastian shuffled closer and the wave of alpha scent rose goosebumps all over him. “Jesus.”

Sebastian nipped at his shoulder and slid his hand across John’s waist, plucking and fidgeting with his pyjama trousers. “You smell… amazing.”

John swallowed. “Yeah,” he grunted. He closed his eyes and tried to stop his hips from rocking up and rubbing his cock against Sebastian’s hand. “So do you.”

Sebastian’s hand dipped into the waistband of his trousers and wriggled its way under one of his buttocks, squeezing gently.

John shivered and moaned softly as he felt another dreaded dribble of hot, wet mucus slide from his anus. “Seb,” he breathed.

“You want to?” Sebastian whispered back, his whole body now pressed against John’s from chest to toe.

“God, yes,” John whined, lifting his pelvis so Sebastian could get his fingers where he wanted them. “Don’t bite,” he blurted suddenly, opening his eyes. Sebastian may have smelt like pure alpha right then, but John wasn’t sure he was ready to commit a lifelong bond with him when he still had some sort of big secret. “Please don’t, don’t bite.”

“Okay,” Sebastian said easily. He kissed John’s neck as he crawled on top of him, hands working to shove his pyjama trousers down.

John could only remember how to breathe. He fisted his hands into his pillow and let Sebastian pull his trousers and pants down. “Got towels under the sheet. It’ll be fine,” he insisted impatiently when Sebastian mentioned the pad and how wet John was expecting to get. “Please, just—just do it.”

Sebastian crawled back up him, grinding his bigger cock down against John’s as he kissed him. John clawed at his back, dragging him closer and keeping him there, while two fingers pressed into his hole.

“Oh,” he moaned, spreading his legs. The fingers bent and rubbed gently, and rubbed again, and then they were rubbing circles and he was overheating again. “Oh, _shit_ , Seb.”

“There?” he said, voice deep and gravelly as he stared down at John. “You like that?”

John nodded, his face screwing up and another moan jumping from his open mouth as Sebastian rubbed a bit harder over his prostate. He added another finger and then started pumping them in and out, making sure John was open and wet enough.

“Jesus, please, just do it,” he cried, moving his hips again in emphasis.

One of Sebastian’s hands grabbed his hip and pinned him to the bed while the other guided his cock to John’s hole. John waited patiently as he rubbed the head into the gathering of lube there, giving him some time to claim the area before he settled in again. The tip of his cock settled perfectly into John’s hole and John held him close as he propped himself up and pressed in. John groaned brokenly as the head rubbed past his prostate and then kept going in, further and further, and only now was he beginning to understand how big Sebastian’s cock really was.

“Ah!” John cried, because suddenly it was too deep and it was poking and stretching at something that wasn’t meant to be poked and stretched, and Sebastian paused immediately. “F-fuck, too deep. Back. Back a bit. Please.”

Sebastian pulled back slightly, regret and confusion on his face. “What? We’ve done this before.”

“I know,” John panted. Even while Sebastian was pulling out, his hole felt like it was being stretched way too much. “But I’m… sensitive. Fucking hell, stay still a minute. I need to, need to…”

“Yeah,” Sebastian huffed, struggling to keep his hips from twitching. “Jesus, John, you’re tight. Always so tight.”

“Too tight,” John muttered in reply. He breathed a few more times. “Okay. Go on. Slow.”

Again, Sebastian tried to bottom out, but John cried out in protest once more and gave him an irritated huff. Then, when he started moving again, he kept his thrusts still long but more shallow. He was slow at first, testing how far he could get and what speed would work best, and eventually they were both worked up to the point where the sound of Sebastian’s balls smacking John’s wet arse were echoing around the empty room along with their moans and pants, because even though he couldn’t go balls deep he was still going damn hard enough.

“John,” Sebastian said eventually. “I can’t… Need to knot.”

John moaned again, but the pitch went up at the end in an upset question. He opened his eyes with effort and frowned. Ah. He’d forgotten about that bit. He hit the back of his bed against the pillow and turned his face away, clearly distressed, but thrust his hips down when Sebastian tried to stop moving. “Just do it,” he said eventually, looking back at Sebastian. His jaw was set determinedly. “Go on. Slow. Please.”

Sebastian nodded, and he slowly managed to reduce his thrusts until he could keep still without whining desperately. He eased in again, very slowly pushing past John’s tightest point and very deliberately ignoring how his pained face was turned away. Eventually, he was pressed all the way to the knot, and his breath trembled in John’s ear.

“John,” he breathed, and John could hear how close he was. “Please, I need, I can’t—”

“Yeah,” John whispered back, and his hand was back down there fisting his cock because it _really_ hurt and he needed the distraction. “Go on.”

Sebastian gave a few shallow thrusts, and it got a bit better as his cock rubbed back over his prostate a few times. Eventually, John, too, was balancing on the edge. Soon enough, Sebastian gave a sharp thrust and John was filled, feeling like he was being split in two as his arse tightened around the knot, rippled around the cock stuck straight through him, and he came with a strangled cry, spurting ropes of watery semen all up both of their chests.

As soon as the pleasure washed over him, it dissipated. Sebastian was still panting and moaning as John’s passage continued to intermittently squeeze his knot, pulling tiny orgasm after orgasm from him. John’s hole, while Sebastian was on top of him and enjoying himself, was burning. The knot was too big, the cock was too big, and he wasn’t used to alpha proportions after all these years. It took him all of his strength to stay still and not panic.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian asked softly, finally finished a few minutes later.

John nodded. “Just… sore,” he muttered. He rocked his hips but they were still stuck fast.

Sebastian sighed. “I am _so_ sorry,” he said, blushing furiously.

“No, it’s fine. Not your fault. I should have realised sooner.” John rubbed his eye awkwardly, his breath still coming fast. “I didn’t think about the knot.”

Sebastian slid his hands under John’s back and pulled them onto their sides, hugging him close. John hissed slightly. “We don’t have to do it again if you don’t want to. I’ll go home when we’re ready. I don’t mind.”

“No,” John said, “don’t be ridiculous. I know now, I just wasn’t expecting it before.”

Sebastian kissed his head. “On the plus side, we might be getting a baby.”

John smiled, but even at that thought he could still feel the whining buzz in his skin. He hummed and nestled closer. “Yeah.”


	11. Chapter 11

John's heat lasted for two days after his sick day, just as he’d expected. That first day he mostly just remembered as being an odd and sore mixture of uncomfortable sex. Sebastian's penis was the largest John had ever had to take – not by far, but still the largest – and he couldn't help but curse his height for the smaller proportions it gave him. If he'd been just an inch taller perhaps it would have been a better fit. Undoubtedly, it would have been a better fit.

They'd had to knot every time, as it turned out; John wasn't able to climax properly during a heat until he had a sort of knot in him. He'd known for years, but had been hoping that Sebastian's girth would have excused his knot from the proceedings. It hadn't. They'd tried adding fingers to mimic a knot, but it had ended up an awkward position for everyone both before and after. Clenching around the bony bumps and ridges of fingers had been even more painful than being stretched around the knot.

On the second day, things got easier. His malleable body seemed to learn Sebastian, and although it was still a tight fit, he hurt a lot less on the second day than he did on the first.

"Won't take this time," John breathed, rolling his hips.

Sebastian moaned softly. He seemed to know what John was referring to. "Might," he replied, squeezing John's hips fondly.

John shook his head. "Unlikely. Maybe—oh—maybe next time." He lifted up and sank down a few more times before speaking again. “Still need… the uh, the results.”

“The what?” Sebastian whined, his hips bucking up to meet John’s arse with each thrust.

“Few days ago. The tests. Heat was late. ‘member?” With each pause, he dropped with more force onto Sebastian’s cock.

Sebastian groaned. “D’we have to talk about all this right now?”

John sighed and shook his head, his face tensing and then releasing with another bounce. “Sorry. _Fuck,_ yes, Seb. Do that again. _Shit_.”

Sebastian panted a moan and bucked up, curling his hips, and John cried out. For a second he was too overtaken with the feeling to react, and then he put his hands on Sebastian’s chest and started riding him properly, forcing himself back harder, faster, to the point where it became uncomfortable, but Sebastian’s groans were getting higher and higher in pitch and louder and louder in volume. Not long after, he thrust back once, harder, harder still, and the knot popped in, expanded against his prostate, and had him coming in long, watery strings of ejaculate all up Sebastian’s chest.

He lay on top of Sebastian, stroking little patterns over his breast with the pads of his fingers. Sebastian kept rolling his hips up every few minutes, swept away each time John’s hole squeezed his knot, but after a little while he became still, too. As soon as his knot had deflated he reached down to ease himself out, and they shared a relieved sigh.

“Bit of a tight fit,” he muttered, getting his arms back around John and kissing the top of his head.

“Tell me about it,” John replied, disgruntled. Still, he kissed Sebastian’s chest. “Think that was the last one. I‘m exhausted.”

“Sleep.” Sebastian stroked his back. “I don’t even know what day it is, or how long it’s been dark for. I think we could both use a sleep.”

John hummed in full agreement. Not another sound was made before he fell dead away into sleep.

Yet again, John woke up alone. He rolled onto his front and wriggled, his backside feeling distinctly crusty, and then combed his hand through his greasy hair. The ache was back in his bum, but it definitely wasn’t sexual longing this time. More of his body realigning itself for normal, out-of-oestrus proceedings. In fact, he knew that if anyone tried to get anything up there, he’d probably have murdered them with his bare hands. He dragged himself up, leaning against the wall until the dizziness lifted, and straight into the shower to rinse himself down and have a shave.

The front door opened and closed while he was in the bathroom, and only then did he realise that he’d forgotten to check the time. The curtains had been dropped closed in his bedroom for the last couple of days, so even though he’d seen the sun he couldn’t say for sure how much of it he’d seen.

“John?” Sebastian called out.

“Showering,” he replied, his voice thick and tired. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“Borrowed your keys, hope you don’t mind. Just popped to the shops. You okay?” Sebastian was right outside the bathroom.

“Yeah,” John said, closing his eyes and rubbing his face. “Need some painkillers.”

The door opened and Sebastian’s head popped around it. “What for?”

“Headache.” John sighed.

“Definitely over, then?” Sebastian squinted. John nodded. “Okay. Try having a drink first, I’ll put the kettle on when you get out. Take your time.” Sebastian left him with a smile.

When John got to the kitchen, there was a small breakfast waiting for him with a cup of tea and a newspaper.

“God, you cook for me more than I cook for myself.” John laughed and flopped into a chair, immediately going for his tea.

“Feeling better?” Sebastian walked past and stroked his hair fondly. John nodded. “Good.”

“Actually, I might take this outside.” John glanced at the window and the sunlight.

Sebastian hummed. “It’s a nice day. Bit chilly, though.”

“It’s April,” John argued. “It can’t be that bad. Besides, we’ve been cooped up for days and I want some air. Will you take my drink for me?”

He grabbed his plate and his newspaper, using the paper to dust off an old wooden chair and settling at the table. “Are you not eating anything?”

Sebastian shook his head. “I’m going to go and open your windows. It stinks in there.”

John snorted. “I couldn’t smell anything.”

“You’ll smell it when you get back in, trust me.”

The air wasn’t warm, but the sunshine was, and John stayed out for as long as he could stand in his jumper before bringing his plate in. Sebastian had opened all the windows and, yes, John could smell why. It stank of sweat, a stale heat, and had the distinct scent of a house that hadn’t breathed air in four days. John sat, slumped, on the sofa in the living room, his legs spread obnoxiously out in front of him as he started on the paper. _Wednesday, 7th April._ He frowned.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” John called, suddenly panicking a little.

“Took the week off,” Sebastian replied from the bedroom. “On Sunday, while you were in bed. It’s okay. Relax.”

“Oh.”

“How’s your head?”

John smiled. “Much better, thank you.” Though, his arse was still aching. He ignored it and read the paper for a while.

“Anything interesting happen while we were having constant sex?” Sebastian hissed, coming up behind John a little while later and nipping his ear.

“Oi, get off.” He swatted him away. “Uh, not really. This is pretty funny, though.” He turned to a column on the fourth page. “ _Master Detective Masters Detectives._ Kitty Reily. Have a read.” John moved the paper up so Sebastian could see.

 _Sherlock Holmes, self-proclaimed consulting detective, has once again outsmarted Scotland Yard in a gruesome suspected double murder-suicide investigation. According to the genius, police had failed to detect crucial evidence to the suggestion that, in contrast to police suspicions, all three of the deceased were victims of a “trained professional”_...

“Shit,” Sebastian breathed.

“Seriously.” John scoffed. He turned to look at Sebastian skeptically, but the man was frowning hard. “What?”

“What?” Sebastian cleared the clouded expression from his face and smiled at John. “Nothing, I just don’t believe it for a second.” He kissed his cheek and stood up, going to open the windows.

“Mm. I don’t, neither,” John mused. “What sort of idiot humiliates the police? He’s gonna get banged up pretty soon, I reckon. _Sherlock Holmes._ Sounds like a tosser, doesn’t he?”

Sebastian snorted, but his heart wasn’t in his words. “Yeah, definitely.”

John put the paper down. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t know him, do you?”

“No. No, I don’t,” Sebastian said, sounding troubled. He turned back to John and scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, look, I actually need to make a call. Back in a minute.”

John stared after him, blinking, as the front door closed. Then he shook his head and went back to the credit crunch.

The day slipped by, and then the week slipped by, and then, as if proving to John how utterly repetitive and monotonous his life had become, a month made its sluggish journey past him. All he seemed to find to do was sleep. He started at the gym again, but he couldn’t seem to find the motivation to keep going at it the way he’d been doing before his heat – or, even, before he and Sebastian had started getting intimate so regularly. He supposed it was down to that, anyway. He just didn’t feel so pressured into staying in shape as he did before – he knew now that Sebastian appreciated every inch of him the way he was, so what was the point?

The time off had certainly seemed to affect his stamina, though. A week after his heat he’d gone for a jog at ten o’clock in the morning, had come home at half past, and then fallen asleep for three hours. He’d been starving when he woke up. He’d given up after a week, when his stamina hadn’t improved and he’d just kept having to have naps whenever he got home.

These days he spent his time walking, shopping, cleaning, cooking, and, mostly, watching TV. He lived the same days over and over again. Sebastian had his own key and came and went as he pleased, sometimes spending the night at his own house but more often spending it with John.

He stirred as he felt a hand on him, and then groaned in protest, tensing and shrugging the hand off of his shoulder. He turned his face into the darkness.

“John,” Sebastian said firmly, shaking him again.

He grunted.

“It’s six o’clock. You won’t sleep tonight. Come on.” He eased his hands under his shoulders and lifted him up, sitting on the sofa next to him to keep him from falling back down and to sleep.

John sighed and buried his face in Sebastian’s shoulder. “How long you been here?”

“Just got in.”

John sighed again, rubbing his eyes. “I need the toilet.”

Sebastian snorted. “Off you pop, then, princess.”

“Piss off.”

“Charming.”

“You can do dinner.”

“Takeaway it is, then.” Sebastian pushed him into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

John got a glass of water as soon as he got out. “Done yet?”

“All ordered. I went for Chinese. Usual stuff.”

He hummed, breathed for a few minutes against the nausea that was rising from his drink, and then curled back up on the sofa. Sebastian came and sat down next to him again, stroking his hair.

“Still not well?”

John groaned. “I think I just need to eat something. Don’t remember the last time I had a full meal.”

Once the food arrived it became obvious quite quickly that he was wrong. It smelt sour and far richer than normal, so he decided to start with the plain rice instead. He swallowed two tiny forkfuls and then a whole glass of water.

“Where did you order from?” He frowned and stared at Sebastian, who was tucking happily into his chow mein.

He blinked. “The one on the main road,” he said. “The normal one.”

“Must have hired a new chef. Does yours taste different?”

“I don’t think so.” Sebastian held his fork out. “Let me try it, they might have given us the wrong thing.”

John handed his tub over and put together a pancake instead, keeping his sauce thin. If the rice had tasted that rich, God knew how bad the sauce was. He gagged at the first bite, and had to open it up and scrape the rest of the sauce away, along with the few spring onions.

“Tastes the same to me, John,” Sebastian said, shrugging. He put the rice down and went back to his noodles.

John grunted disinterestedly, working hard on forcing the rest of his pancake down. As soon as he’d swallowed it and washed it down with a drink, it came back up again. He shot off to the bathroom, a hand over his mouth, as Sebastian called after him.

They pinned it on a bug. John spent the rest of the week in bed with a sick bucket next to him. Every time he thought he was okay, he’d get up, have a glass of water, watch some TV, and end up being sick (or, by the time a few days had gone by, retching bile) again that evening. He’d have gotten frustrated of being stuck indoors on his own all day if he didn’t keep sleeping through his days all the time. He spent most of his waking hours in the dark, being miserable, not knowing at all what time or day it was. He grew used to it.

The illness fluctuated, though, which was why he never really had any serious concerns over it. He knew that viruses could take weeks to get over fully – so could common colds, come to think of it, and they were perfectly harmless – and for every few days he had where his stomach hurt and he slept through the sunlight and he puked nothing into a bucket uncountable times, he had a day where he felt fine. There was always a day where he took a shower, brushed his teeth, and went for a walk because it was just so liberating to feel well again.

Those days were his excuse for it taking Sebastian two weeks to finally get him to go and see a doctor for some tests, because he was starting to get a little too skinny.

John’s doctor, Dr. Wheeler, didn’t see any damning results in the physical he performed, and he was gentle with the various sensitive areas John’s body had grown, such as his stomach and his throat, which had now developed a gag reflex more prominent than ever before. He took a blood sample, a urine sample, a swab of saliva, and gave him some anti-nausea tablets before sending him home. John collapsed in his bed, worn out from the excursion, and took another nap.

The next day, the test results from his last set of scans were back: as far as he could gather, there was nothing wrong with his reproductive system. There were some common hormonal fluctuations, as expected prior to the heat he’d ended up having, and the results were entirely inconclusive. There was no reason for his heats to have stopped for six months other than the common but unproven theories about alphas. Which, John was beginning to think, were true. Perhaps heats _did_ stop if you were isolated for too long.

He’d secretly been very proud of himself when he’d filled out his latest heat survey and been able to tick the _I spent my heat with an alpha_ box – and then had felt a strange flutter in his chest as he’d ticked the _I will not be using contraception_ box. He supposed it was the effects of having to start worrying about his heats again, but he also found himself with a much heavier heart as he posted his survey to the administration centre than he’d felt before. God knew he now had to wait another few weeks to find out what the hell was wrong with him this time. He sighed and went to bed, as had become his usual way of dealing with things.

The anti-nausea tablets did help, John supposed. He still felt ill, and his stomach cramped occasionally (he assumed from all the retching he’d been suffering in the last few weeks), but they meant he could keep down the occasional bit of plain food like toast and biscuits. He thought the food was giving him a bit more energy, too, because the more often he ate, the less often he found himself falling asleep on the sofa or spending half the day unconscious.

A week after he’d gone to see the doctor, he was feeling less worried that he was dying of a fatal disease. He’d never have admitted it to Sebastian, but he’d been getting concerned in the second and third week of his illness that something was horribly wrong and he’d never recover, but now that he could eat and he had a little more energy, things were looking up. That was the only reason he got up to answer the door that Monday afternoon – that and the fact that whoever it was wouldn’t just bloody _go away._

“Yes?” John snapped as he pulled open the door. He found himself staring up at someone he’d never seen before, which said a lot for someone who was used to the same faces every day. This man was an alpha, painfully obviously so, with a thick grey coat on (at the end of May?) and a forest of dark curls sitting above his pale blue eyes. John stared.

The man huffed a sigh. He rolled his eyes and glanced down at the address on his phone – John’s address, not that he noticed. Then, he said, “Nope,” and stalked away.

John blinked as the man left his front garden and disappeared down the road. He closed the door, very slowly, and retired to the television again.

A few days later, the due date for John’s heat had come and gone. He wasn’t surprised, not in the least, because the last one had only lasted two days and he hadn’t exactly been the picture of health for the last few weeks. They both agreed, after they’d waited a week with nothing, that it was probably skipping again.

“It’s fine,” Sebastian said gently, kissing John’s hair again and again. “We’ll get it next time.”

John didn’t feel well enough to reply, not in the least. He’d had a bad day for nausea and fatigue, and Sebastian’s disrupted scent was worse than usual today.

“What’s this?” John asked gently, taking Sebastian’s hand from his hip and looking at the bruised knuckles. “What happened?”

Sebastian grunted and pulled his hand away, putting it back on John’s hip and hugging him again. “Nothing. I don’t know.”

John sat up, frowning, and took the hand again, holding it up in the dim light to see it better. There were scratches, too, and a bit of swelling. “Seb,” John breathed, stroking the pad of his thumb over the knuckles. “Oh my God, are you alright? Doesn’t it hurt?”

Sebastian shrugged and pulled his hand back again. “S’fine. Just hit it on a table.”

John turned to face him and Sebastian sighed as he let his hand fall from his hair. “That’s not a bump, that’s a fistfight. I’m a doctor, I’ve been to war, remember?”

Sebastian scoffed and got up. “Leave it, John.”

“Is someone saying something to you?” John pressed, chasing him out and into the kitchen. “Did someone say something?”

“No, of course not, I’m not out of control.” Sebastian got a glass of water.

John started digging around for some witch hazel. It was the best thing he had in. “Then what happened?” Sebastian stayed silent. John sighed. “At least stay here and let me try and help. I know this is nothing special, but it does stuff for bruises and scratches, apparently. Give me your hands.”

Sebastian put his glass down and presented John with his scuffled knuckles. With every dab John gave across the mottled skin, he got more and more certain that there had been a punch-up somewhere, somehow. Sebastian, however, had shut up like a clam.

“This isn’t something I can talk about,” he said eventually, watching John with a stern and stony face. “If you’re going to press, I’m walking out right now. I’m going to my place and I’ll stay the night there. I really, really don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

Sebastian hadn’t been to his own house in a month. John was appreciating his company, because he felt like every day he was suffering more and more, feeling worse and worse, and Sebastian’s presence seemed to be the only thing worth staying awake for. He didn’t want him to leave just because he couldn’t respect his privacy.

“Sorry,” John said, and he kissed the back of Sebastian’s hands. “I’m… so sorry. Please stay. Please.”

He couldn’t bear the thought of spending the night alone when he already felt so useless.


	12. Chapter 12

Sebastian had been quiet and distant with him for a while. He said he was working a lot more, and he often came home sweaty and dusty, but John never found out why. The man was an utter charmer, and he had a way with words that meant he always managed to twist things away, divert John’s attention, and keep his record clean without arousing suspicion. It was maddening, especially when John only remembered that he didn’t have a clear answer to any of his questions while Sebastian was out at work.

John’s test results got back two weeks after Sebastian’s first dubious set of bruises. He’d been having a good day, with next to no sickness and a distinctly light feeling in his stomach, when he got the call from his clinic. _“Dr. Watson, we’ve just had your test results back. Dr. Wheeler would like to book you an appointment to discuss them as soon as you’re able. How’s tomorrow afternoon?”_

With a heavy heart, he agreed.

The next day, he swallowed where he sat in the patient chair. His hands were fisted tightly in his pockets. “You what?”

Dr. Wheeler slid the papers towards him. “HGC, John. I know you’re a doctor, but I have to say this, so bear with me. HGC in the blood or urine can be an indicator either of pregnancy or testicular cancer – which is highly unlikely.”

John cleared his throat and nodded. “Right, yeah. I… Yes. Okay.” He looked up at the doctor. “What’s your opinion?”

The doctor tried to offer him a small smile. “Let’s talk it through.”

“Okay.” John sighed and put his face in his hands. He rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, I just… Tired.” He looked back up. “Okay.”

“Well, let’s try and eliminate cancer first. Do you examine your testicles regularly?”

John blushed bright red. He was a doctor, he’d done this before. He’d experienced the positions swapped countless times in his life, and yet he was only just realising how bad it really was on this end. It was no wonder people didn’t go to their doctors.

“No,” he said simply.

The doctor had his eyes focused solely on the blank sheet of paper in front of him as he prepared to check a list of symptoms. “So you haven’t felt any unusual lumps?”

“No, I haven’t.” John curled his hand into a fist and rested his forehead on it.

“Have you experienced any aches or sharp pains in your scrotum or abdomen?”

John shook his head. Looking good so far. “No.”

“And you’ve had no other unusual feelings or symptoms arise in the area?” The doctor looked up at him, eyebrows raised. John shook his head, relaxing. “But you _have_ had the general ill feeling and the fatigue.”

John hummed. Maybe not out of the woods yet. “Yes, I have. I’ve been experiencing that for… God. Month and a half? The anti-nausea pills helped a lot, but I don’t want to be on drugs for the rest of my life. Can’t live like this forever.”

The doctor put down his pencil and looked up. “Hopefully it won’t get to that stage, John. Testicular cancer is extremely rare, especially in young males, and, on top of that, your blood didn’t show any of the other markers for cancer. Just to put this in perspective, less than one percent of cancers in all males are testicular, so I highly doubt that this is the problem. But I’d still like to take a look at you just to be sure, seeing as you haven’t had a feel yourself.”

Dr. Wheeler stood up and gestured towards his examination table, pulling the curtain closer until John was on the other side of it. “Just come behind here with me for a moment.”

John, swallowing his pride (though his shame was still obvious in his burning cheeks) stood up and went behind the curtain, dropping his trousers and spreading his legs slightly. The doctor pulled up a chair, felt for his penlight in his pocket, and sat down to cop a feel with gloved hands.

“All clear,” he announced as he stood up a few minutes later, white gloves snapping as he pulled them off and binned them. “I can’t find anything. I really think it’s more likely to be pregnancy at this point. Remind me, when was your last heat?”

“Um,” John thought for a while as he fastened his trousers, still blushing. “About two and a half, three months ago.”

“And you shared it with another man?”

“Yeah.” John pulled his jacket on and sat down again. “We’ve been together for a while. We didn’t use anything, either. I mean… I mean, we weren’t _not_ trying, if you understand.”

The doctor smiled. “I understand. Well, I’d say it’s worked. Congratulations.”

John shook his head. “No, but it can’t have. That heat was the first heat I’d had in half a year.”

“Doesn’t make it any less fertile,” the doctor argued, frowning. “I can double-check, if you really want me to, but you’ll have to get your trousers off again.”

John set his jaw, pursing his lips for a moment as he thought. “Yes, please.” Just to double-check. Just so that he wasn’t going back to a grumpy Sebastian and accidentally lying to him, because God knew how much more annoyed he’d be, then.

A few minutes later, he was naming every single object within an extremely uncomfortable proximity to his internal vagina to keep his mind as the doctor poked and hummed and twisted things. He grunted a few times. Then, all at once, everything was pulled away and he was allowed, once more, to relax.

“I’m certain, John,” Dr. Wheeler confirmed, putting his next pair of gloves in the bin and closing the curtain behind him. “You can change. You’re pregnant.”

“Shit,” John breathed, thinking of all the time Sebastian had been disappearing for recently. Now really didn’t seem the best time for this. He pulled on his trousers and sat on the table for a moment, his face in his hands.

After a few seconds, he realised the doctor was shuffling papers. Then he realised that he knew exactly what they were, and he got down from the table and dragged himself back into the chair. He was right: they were leaflets.

“I’m going to begin by saying congratulations again,” the doctor said, “and recommending that you file this with the administration centre sooner rather than later. It’ll be a pain to organise the paperwork when you’re busy with organising everything for a baby.” He smiled, and then fanned the leaflets out on the desk in front of John. “Now, these are all about choosing your doctor or midwife and antenatal care. That should be done sooner, too, because you’ll need some scans as soon as possible to confirm some things…”

John absorbed the information without really listening. He’d given people this exact talk before, with these exact leaflets. Teenagers, middle-aged women, young alpha-omega couples who were ecstatic at conceiving on their first real try despite the odds being so massively stacked for them. It was better news for some than others. John folded the leaflets, put them in his coat pocket, and trudged home in the sunshine with a heavy heart and a return of his nausea. _Morning sickness,_ he corrected himself.

He had to tell Sebastian, of course he did, but how could he? He’d told him that the most likely outcome of the heat would be a negative result, and then, just a month or two later, he’d started getting into fights and disappearing for days on end and staying in his own house more than ever. Perhaps he was angry at John, though he didn’t know why. Perhaps he’d already figured it all out, and he thought John was keeping it from him.

He spent all week texting and calling Sebastian, and every single one of them got screened.

_Coming over tonight? Bought pork chops for dinner. JW_

_Everything okay? JW_

_You’re quiet. JW_

_I’m really sorry if I did something. I love you. I miss you. Find me at the community garden next Sunday at two. We really need to talk. JW_

That was the last one he sent before giving up. He was getting increasingly miserable as the days wore on, and even though he knew, now, that there was a real excuse for his low swing, it still hurt to be suffering alone. These days, he passed out from exhaustion before the sun rose, and woke up in the afternoon from a nightmare. He had nobody there to rub his back while he was being sick, or make him feel better about the aches in his stomach, or about how much weight he was putting on without even trying, or about how much his chest was starting to hurt now that he was thinking about it. He’d preferred being too sick to move, honestly, because at least then Sebastian had been here for him.

Now, his flat was empty. Now, there was nothing to look forward to in the evenings. Now, the dust was gathering again, but this time it was gathering over someone else’s belongings, over everything he could have kept if he hadn’t made some sort of stupid bloody mistake.

He didn’t sleep properly anymore. Never could, with everything on his mind. He went out the next Sunday – bang on three months pregnant, as it happened – to meet Sebastian with the folded leaflets in his trouser pocket, because summer was finally beginning in earnest and it was getting far too hot to hide his newly plumped body under layers of jumpers and coats. He settled on the bench central to the entrance of the community garden – nobody could have missed him as they came in, and nobody could have escaped his notice as they walked past. He waited.

And then he waited some more.

He’d arrived an hour early, and even an hour after their scheduled time, his waiting continued still.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, the situation finally beginning to catch up with him. He thought that now, after all this time, he’d finally have to go to the admin centre and give them Sebastian’s name. He had to find him, talk to him one more time, ask him what the hell he thought he was doing to leave John with no word of anything like that. And then he had to ask him what to do with the baby.

He still had his face in his hands and was crying silently when he heard two sets of footsteps pacing quickly up the path towards him. A faint spark of hope lighting in his heart, he wiped his eyes again and looked up – but, no, it wasn’t Sebastian.

It was, however, the man that had come to his door a couple of months before. The tall alpha, with that same grey coat ( _Must be boiling,_ John thought) and the same unruly head of hair and the same piercing eyes. This time he was with a much smaller man, or, rather, a man that looked much smaller in comparison to him. He was in a simple grey suit and had short grey hair. John couldn’t put his finger on a secondary gender for him, so he automatically went with beta.

“No,” the alpha said, just as he had before, but this time to the man next to him. He waved a hand to John. “Look at him! Just… no.”

“I’m telling you, Sherlock. That’s him,” the man accompanying him said, giving a stern point at John.

John swallowed and sat up a bit straighter, frowning. “Sorry, have you got a problem?” he said, standing up and walking towards the alpha. “What is this? Are you fucking stalking me? I’m taken, mate.”

“Yes, obviously,” the man said, pointedly looking at his abdomen.

John put his hand there instinctively, eyes wide. His stomach was still flat, he knew that. The rest of him had plumped up a bit, sure, but that was all just baby weight. There was no way this man should have known that, anyway. Just as he opened his mouth, obviously about to shoot off on a furious rant at the man’s impertinence, the smaller man stepped forward and held his arm out, showing off a badge.

“DI Lestrade, of Scotland Yard. Let’s calm it down a bit.” He sent a stern look towards John. The alpha didn’t look the least bit bothered by John’s obvious bristling. “Are you John Watson?”

“Doctor John Watson,” John replied, still glaring at Sherlock despite addressing the DI. “Is he your partner?”

“What?” the officer sputtered, blushing and frowning and stepping back. “ _Him_? Jesus, no, God. Not at all. I hardly see how that’s relevant.”

“He means for work, you idiot,” the man groaned, rubbing his forehead and cringing.

“Oh.” DI Lestrade cleared his throat and stood up a little, taking a breath.

“Utter, utter idiot,” he muttered again, scowling at the policeman.

“Shut it.” The man turned back to John. “Yes, sort of. I guess so, for today. I’m here to bring you in for questioning, actually.”

John’s eyes widened again. “What? Why? What for?”

“I’m telling you, it’s the wrong one,” the alpha snapped, now completely ignoring John. “How many John Watsons are there on record? Lord alive, can’t you ever leave me be to investigate things on my _own_?”

“Shut. Up.” The officer took a calming breath, his shoulders wound tight. He made a visible effort to relax them when he turned back to John. “This is in relation to Sebastian Moran. Do you know him?”

John’s heart dropped out of his stomach. His mouth opened, but he had to try twice to squeeze out the word. “Y… yes,” he said, and he nodded. “Yeah, I do. He’s my… I mean, he…” He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. “What’s he done?”

“I can’t release that information right now. Follow me, please.” DI Lestrade stepped back slightly to allow John between them.

“Am I being arrested?” John asked as he stood up. His heart had started pounding and his mouth had gone dry. He felt a hand on the small of his back guiding him to the exit of the garden.

“No, you’re not. We just need to ask you some questions. Just co-operate and we’ll see how it goes.”

“But… No, I can’t, I’m meeting him, he’s supposed to be here.” John turned around and looked over the gardens again, desperately hoping for a glimpse of his tall blonde.

“Who, Sebastian Moran?” Lestrade paused and turned around. “Where?”

“I don’t know. I asked him to meet me here an hour ago, he just hasn’t… oh my God, I really need to talk to him. Please.” John’s eyes were wet again, and he tried to back away and twist out of reach, but the officer’s hand was clamping around his arm and keeping him firmly in place.

“He’s part of a serious criminal investigation. It’s best you come with us.”

He didn’t allow John another word before ducking him into the back of his squad car and getting in the front with his companion. On the way to the station, John kept his face in his hands and breathed. It was no use.

“I’m gonna be sick,” he groaned, fumbling for the door handle, but it was locked. “Please. Please, I need to get out.”

“Oh, Jesus,” the alpha muttered, rolling his eyes and staring out of the window.

“Shut _up_ ,” DI Lestrade snapped, hitting him on the arm. He looked at John’s pale face in the mirror. “We’re almost there, just hold on a minute. Don’t do that, please, doctor, it’s dangerous.”

John calmed down, pressing his hot face to the cool glass. It helped, if only a small amount. Once he got escorted into the station he was allowed a glass of water and a much-needed trip to the toilet. Then he was taken to a windowless room with a table and three chairs and sat down with a recorder put in front of him – he was shocked (and slightly horrified) to find that the one leading the investigation was the taller one. He hadn’t caught his name.

“What’s your connection to Sebastian Moran?” he said sternly, staring across the table at him.

John squared his shoulders. “He’s my alpha.”

“No, he’s not,” the dark one said off-handedly. “Who is he to you?”

John blinked. “Yes, he is, he’s my alpha.”

He sighed. “Don’t bother. I know who his omega is and it’s certainly not you.”

“But… No, well, we haven’t bonded yet. I wasn’t ready. But it’s… we live together. Practically. Almost do. He has his own house, but he spends most of his time with me. We’re together. I think you’ve made a mistake.” John swallowed.

The man was frowning at him. “Sebastian Moran doesn’t have his own house, and he’s already bonded.”

“No, he’s not,” John said insistently. “He’s in no state to be bonded. We were just planning on moving away together, out of the programme grounds and into London or something.”

“Programme grounds? He lived with you on the campus?”

“Yes,” John laughed incredulously. “Of course he did, where else would he live?”

“He’s not on their list,” the man said, not half as amused. “He’s not a part of the programme.”

John frowned. “Yes, he is.” He glanced between the officers, and the grey-haired one was watching him in confusion. John snorted. “He’d been to war. He was mentally exhausted, and lonely, and he wanted to find someone to get better with.”

“And he told you he was invalided due to mental health issues,” the dark-haired one confirmed. When John nodded, he said, “Wrong. It was a dishonourable discharge. He failed to control his annoyance at those under his command and murdered an entire team of soldiers.”

John instantly shut down. “You’re a liar. I can’t believe I’m listening to this.”

“A liar?” His eyebrows rose. He opened the manila folder in front of him and pulled out sheet upon sheet of all the information Scotland Yard had on Sebastian Moran – which, admittedly, wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough to confirm that this was him, and this was who he was. “Please, take your time.”

John leafed through the pages in silence, completely in shock. These papers listed everything from petty crime to crime so vicious that his water almost came back up all over the table. This wasn’t the folder on Sebastian, it wasn’t the folder on his Seb. This was someone else. It had to be. This person was... _evil_.

“I don’t believe it,” John said, but his voice was wavering and there were tears in his eyes. He sniffed hard and wiped his face. He shook his head. “That’s not him. That’s not the Sebastian Moran I know. He’s changed.”

“He’s lied to you about his entire life,” the questioner reminded him. “He’s not a part of the programme, he didn’t get invalided from the army, and he’s not your alpha.”

“He is,” John said again, but his face was in his hands on the table to hide his tears. Stupid fucking hormones. He should have been furious, not distraught.

“No, Dr. Watson. His omega is one James Moriarty, the leader of an elusive and worldwide crime ring that the government has been attempting to close in on for years now.” The man was rustling more papers, but John wasn’t looking, couldn’t look.

“How could he do that? How could he send his alpha away to get seduced and, and _shagged_ by some other omega?” John cried, letting loose and weeping into his hands. DI Lestrade left, but John didn’t look up. There was silence for a moment.

“I…” The man stuttered slightly, far out of his comfort zone. “I don’t know.” He cleared his throat. With the next piece he said, he was much more in control. “But I do know that he’s been leading some of the most dangerous criminals in the UK together to form a terrorist cell. They’ve been planning attacks all over London for years, and their most important target has been the London campus of the British Procreation Association. If he’s been staying there, with you, it’s because he’s been undercover, and it’s likely that a device has been rigged in your house as well as in the main hubs of the campus.”

John didn’t comment. A tissue box was dropped onto the table and he didn’t move from where he had his face in his hands.

“This man is dangerous, Dr. Watson,” said the other voice. The DI, John placed. “We need to know where he is.”

Again, John made no comment. He sniffed and grabbed a tissue, glad of the opportunity to clean himself up a bit.

“Do you know where Sebastian Moran is?” DI Lestrade pressed, now as close to him as the other one was.

“No,” John said quietly.

Both of them were quiet for a second. “Are you sure?”

John nodded.

The alpha’s voice got very low and, all of a sudden, very close. “Withholding knowledge and/or evidence from the police is a criminal and punishable offence, Dr. Watson, so, please, think very carefully.”

“I don’t know,” John snapped, looking up at him. Yes, he definitely smelt like an alpha. “He disappeared, alright?”

“Disappeared? When?” DI Lestrade stood up and advanced a step.

John looked between them, biting his lip. “He just… left. A week ago, two weeks ago, I don’t know. He started coming home with these bruises all over him, like he’d… been in fights or something. He said he didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t make him, but then one day he didn’t come home and he hasn’t spoken to me since. Been completely ignoring me, all of my texts and calls and everything. As far as I’m aware, he doesn’t know that…” John sighed and shook his head.

“Doesn’t know what, John?” Lestrade sat down and leaned towards him across the table.

“That I’m pregnant,” John admitted, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand once more.

Of course, it all made sense now. All of it, every last bit. Things were starting to pop out in his head and slot themselves together. Puzzles were being solved. Everything about Sebastian Moran and his omega was becoming so obvious, and that just made everything worse.

All the way back to the very first night they saw each other, John found clues. Back when they’d first met, that first date they’d had, Sebastian had returned with a black smudge of grease on his hand. _From the tap,_ he’d said. _Liar,_ John thought now. All of those clunking, rattling bags and suitcases that he brought over and never let John look inside. What had they been filled with? All those tripods that he’d claimed to use for his “photos of the London skyline” – why was he really on the roof? John got the sudden sickening feeling that the tripods he’d been talking about hadn’t been meant for cameras, especially when he remembered the metallic clicks and slots he’d heard that time he’d called him during work. The strange reaction he’d had to the gun when he’d discovered it in John’s wardrobe, too, that had been wrong. He hadn’t been nearly shocked or upset enough, and he’d held it like he held one every day. John had wondered why.

The memories took him right up to the couple of weeks before, when Sebastian had started turning up with bruises on his knuckles and face. Scuffles, John had thought then. _Murder,_ he thought now.

And then there was this omega, this strange James Moriarty that he’d never heard of before – except he had, hadn’t he? He’d heard about him in all of those smug looks and grins that Sebastian had allowed himself when he talked about his one special ‘friend’ and his ‘boss’. He’d heard about him in Sebastian’s pretty fantastic stamina in bed for someone who had been on their own for years. He’d heard about him in the strange red flag in his scent that John had been ignoring for so long, trying to get past for so long, because he’d thought he’d get an explanation. Sebastian was bonded to another man.

Another man that he’d probably been kissing and making love to at the same time as he’d been kissing and making love to John. With those same murdering lips and nimble fingers. John remembered that night where every text he’d gotten from Sebastian had been short, and taken its time coming, as if he were distracted, and he felt sick. He remembered the misery that had been on Sebastian’s face that first time John had forced him to come over, and he felt even more sick. He remembered all of those quick responses he’d gotten when he threatened to go and find his address from the admin centre, and all those times he hadn’t been allowed back to Sebastian’s house – because Sebastian didn’t have a house. He wasn’t real.

Just after his heat, John thought. Sebastian had gone out and bought him a paper. _Sherlock Holmes._

_You don’t know him, do you?_

_No. No, I don’t._

_But I should,_ John added for him.


	13. Chapter 13

John was alone again. Time ticked by, but he was long past paying attention. He had more important things on his mind, like the criminal baby living in his uterus and the police hammering on his door every five minutes to check one thing or another. He didn’t have the energy to care.

They hadn’t let him go home after their interview with him, the policeman and his unpleasant colleague. They had reason to suspect that the Colonel had planted something harmful in John’s bungalow before making his escape, and they very openly put the blame on the alpha’s real omega – that Jim what’s-his-name bloke that John hadn’t had the guts to accept the file on in the interview room. Honestly, he didn’t think he even cared anymore. Some strangers in police uniforms sat him down in the waiting room in front of the caged television, a cup of tea clasped protectively in hand, and babysat him for hours. They had paperwork to do, at least. All John had to do was watch Jeremy Kyle and Pointless and Deal or No Deal. It was, suffice it to say, not his favourite channel, and yet his eyes were glued to the screen almost the whole time he was sat there. It was easy, wasn’t it? He didn’t have to think about anything. His mind, at last, could just slow down and go blank.

He only realised he’d fallen asleep when they shook his shoulder and woke him up.

“Come on, sir. Time to go.” The officer stood in front of him not threateningly, but firmly.

John nodded and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yeah, yeah, okay. God, sorry, I didn’t… Sorry.”

“Oops, mind your drink,” the man warned, reaching down and supporting the cup so John’s hand, still gripped tight around the polystyrene, didn’t tip it over.

“Shit,” John breathed. He held it to his chest, though it had long since gone cold. He stood up and then immediately fell back into his chair, his head spinning.

“You alright?” the officer said, his hand moving to his radio.

John nodded. He blinked a few times. “Yes, fine, thanks. Just a bit light-headed. Haven’t eaten properly today.” He looked up and attempted a little smile before standing up again, this time successfully.

The officer hummed and turned around, leading John down corridors, outside, and into a police car in the car park. “I’m just dropping you home,” he said as he got in. “They’ve cleared your house of anything they found, say it’s safe now.”

John closed his eyes and tipped his forehead against the cool glass. _Safe now,_ he’d said, like it hadn’t been safe before. “Have they taken his things?”

“I don’t know, sir,” he replied easily. “They could have taken them as evidence, maybe, but I don’t know anything about the case. I doubt any of it was relevant or necessary to the cause. Could all still be there.”

John didn’t reply. He still had the cup held fast to his chest, but his other hand slid into his pocket. He ran his fingers over the edges of the leaflets in there, flicked the corners under the pads of his thumb. He’d have to sort some things out.

By the time they pulled up outside his bungalow, whatever police presence had graced it over the hours he’d been contained was gone. It was just his same old house, with its shabby, broken pathway to the plain door, and the number of one _Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade_ suspended in his letterbox. He plucked it from the mouth and turned it over.

_I’ll be in touch. GL_

John sighed, rubbed his neck, and put that in his pocket with the baby leaflets. Then he unlocked the door and stepped inside, feeling for the light switch but half afraid to flick it.

First of all, his eyes went to the hook by the door, even though he knew it’d only be home to one coat. It was far too warm for layers now, but instead of a leather jacket hanging there next to his material one, the three remaining hooks were empty. As he put his keys in the bowl, he let his eyes wander down the walls, down the legs of the table, down to the carpet and the little nook where the shoes were kept. That was empty, too. He toed off his loafers and filled the space as best he could before moving on.

He started in the little living room, looking over the shelves and tables. The room had been sparse at the best of times, but Sebastian’s faded scent still filled it. He turned around and walked out, moving onto the kitchen. He refused to let himself look for the missing things there as he shoved a few biscuits into his mouth and, finally, binned his old cup.

Too soon, he found himself at the door to his bedroom. He pressed gently on the wood with his fingertips until it gave, not making a sound as it swung open. His socked feet were quiet on the carpet as he moved inside, but the blood rushing through his ears felt monstrously loud enough for him. Lips quivering, he ran his hand atop the chest of drawers that was usually home to Sebastian’s clothes. It was unsettling for him to find the dust patterns uneven, with fingerprints smeared everywhere. Even though he already knew what he’d find, he still slid the top drawer open: nothing. They’d taken everything.

John gave up and went to Sebastian’s side of the bed, curling up. He held the pillow tight by his head, wiped his eyes on his sleeve, and turned his face into the last he had of the stale scent of Sebastian Moran to sleep.

He didn’t do anything for a whole week. Nothing would give him the motivation to get up out of his bed, except his stupid bloody squashed bladder. The detective inspector hadn’t been in touch yet, so he spent most of the week sleeping off his nausea – but found, by the end of it, that he no longer felt so ill that he should be under supervision, or so tired that the floor always looked as comfy as his bed. He only noticed this when he got up to make himself a drink and managed to get all the way to the kitchen without feeling like he was about to be sick. Sure, he got a bit light-headed, but he wasn’t eating properly, so he knew that was his own fault.

That day he went for a walk. A nice long one, all the way to the park, around the whole thing once, and then back home. He even got himself an ice cream because, fuck it, the sun was shining and he deserved a fucking ice cream for not once thinking about the gun wound tight in his wardrobe.

His heart froze over when he remembered that. He tripped on an uneven paving slab. The police had emptied his house of everything of Sebastian’s, but nothing of his. First of all, how could they have known what belonged to him and what belonged to Sebastian? They used the same bloody shampoo, for God’s sake – how could they possibly have figured it out? Secondly, and, probably, more importantly, why hadn’t he been arrested yet? He’d been in illegal possession of an active firearm for years now.

Maybe, he concluded, they were taking pity on him.

With a heavy heart, he finished his ice cream and went home. He made himself a sandwich for dinner and then went through the evening looking over all of his things again, feeling out of place and wrong in his own skin. He had to do something, maybe. Take action. He couldn’t waste any more of his life being miserable and lonely or he really would go mad, and he had a kid to think of now. Even if he wasn’t quite sure he’d be able to love it as much as it needed, in six months he’d have a baby.

Tomorrow, he decided, he was going to get his life on track.

And this time, he carried out his promise. He put his alarm on for nine o’clock and made the effort to get up when he’d planned to, giving himself ample time to take a nice, relaxing shower and have a much-needed shave. The first thing he did when he got out, the towel still around his waist, was call the closest antenatal clinic in the area for an appointment during the week. Even doing just that made him feel a bit better in himself.

The next thing he did was chip the first layer off his whole house. His aim was to strip all of his bedsheets, cushion covers, towels, tablecloths, from where they lay, and throw them all in the wash. He wanted to dust everything, hoover all the floors, mop where appropriate, and bleach the sinks. Today, he wanted to clear his life of all the residual poison that Sebastian Moran had left him with. He was going to scrub his scent from every nook and cranny and start afresh. A new life, on his own, not needing anyone.

He didn’t get to bed until two o’clock in the morning, but he fell asleep with a good feeling as soon as his head hit the clean pillows. His bungalow smelt brand new – or, it would have, if he didn’t live there. He was proud of himself and everything he’d done that day, and he continued it the next. All of the work around the house had been done, but he went out and got a fresh lot of groceries to make himself a grand dinner that night, and then, finally, as he stood in his garden soaking up the mid-July sun, he called his old therapist for a quick chat.

His appointment at the prenatal clinic came a couple of days after that. He’d gone through the leaflets again and done a lot of research, so he thought maybe he knew what to expect from the appointment, but he was still nervous as he sat in the stuffy waiting room. There were all sorts of other people in the room with him, ranging from must-be-bursting mothers and distanced fathers to a tiny little teenage boy hiding in the corner. John couldn’t look at him; he remembered too keenly the pig-headed alphas that hadn’t been able to keep their noses to themselves back in the day.

Eventually: “John Watson?”

He stood up and, fist closed tight around the dog-eared leaflets in his pocket, followed the obstetrician through.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Dr. Admona.” The man shook John’s hand warmly and closed the door behind them. “Take a seat. You must be just starting out, if you don’t mind my saying.”

John hummed, twining his fingers over his stomach and resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. He thought. “Thirteen… fourteen weeks, I think.”

Dr. Admona took his seat behind the desk and started shuffling papers. “Alright. Lots of planning time, then. Have you had your booking appointment yet, or started your birth plan?”

“No. I, um. I only found out last week. I’ve been… recovering.” He offered a tight smile.

“Well, it’s really best to get those done as soon as possible, just to make things easier. It’ll make you and your partner feel better if you know exactly what’s going to happen, and it means the hospitals can book you in for the period you’re due – not to mention organisation for an epidural, if you’d like one. It’s just much better to have the plan filled out.” The doctor said the words firmly, but still he failed to pass John whatever sort of plan he had his heart set on.

“Right,” John said, blinking. “I, actually, I don’t… My partner’s not involved. I think I should get that out of the way first. As far as I’m aware, he has no idea that any of this has happened, and I don’t intend to see him again anytime soon.”

Dr. Admona seemed slightly taken aback (John didn’t blame him – they were, after all, under an official breeding programme) but he cleared himself up and moved on. “Okay. Thank you for letting me know. I do want to ask, John – if you only found out recently, would this be your first appointment?”

He nodded.

“Okay,” the doctor said, smiling. He stood up. “Then, I think it’s best if we start straight away, just to make sure everything’s alright in there. Scales, please.”

John sighed as he stood up. He’d chosen this clinic, and this time, with this doctor, because the man was an omega. John trusted him more than he trusted anyone to know his body and respect his decisions, so he reminded himself to be patient as he was, yet again, put through a general check-up. Once more, he got his weight and height taken and submitted a urine sample. Doctors seemed to love urine samples.

Eventually, he was on the table with his shirt pulled up to his chest, and the doctor was pressing the probe into the pool of gel on his softened belly. John had his arm bent under the back of his head as he stared up at the ceiling. There was some sort of hole in him, he thought. He should have been excited, or, at the very least, nervous, but he felt nothing yet. It didn’t feel real.

“Thirteen weeks, you said?”

“Fourteen,” John corrected blandly, frowning at the ceiling.

“Fourteen weeks, sorry. And when did your last heat start?” He pressed some buttons and squinted at the screen.

John took a deep breath and blew the air out noisily. “Um… Early April?”

“Can you give me an exact date? As close as you can, so I can give you an exact due date.”

“April 4th,” John decided, quite certain now that he thought about it.

“Faaantastic,” the doctor murmured. “Everything looks fine here. Do you want to see your baby?”

John hesitated. “Yeah,” he said, turning his head towards the monitor. “Yes, please.”

The doctor gave him a smile as he turned the screen to John. “There. See that?”

John hadn’t expected to see it. He’d expected what he usually saw on TV, with the few indistinct white blobs surrounded by blue-black space. He didn’t know if this was just because it was his own body and his own child, but, yes, he did see it, and he saw it very clearly. He nodded, his face stony and mournful as he stared at the tiny little baby on the screen.

“I can see it,” he murmured. He blinked a few times and reached over. “I think I can. The head there, legs… arms.”

The doctor nodded. “Yep, that’s right. It’ll have properly formed a week or two ago – all that’s left now is for it to grow. Can you see the heart beating there?” He pointed around a tiny flickering white blob beneath the head.

John, with no feeling towards the little wavering smudge, nodded.

“Won’t be able to hear that for a few more weeks, at least, I wouldn’t think. Would you like me to print you a picture?”

He grunted. “No,” he decided. He sniffed hard and turned his eyes back to the ceiling. “No, thank you, that’s fine.”  
“Okay,” Dr. Admona said uncertainly. He pulled the screen back towards him. “Your baby should be here around January 9th. Next year, obviously.”

John nodded, though he allowed the obstetrician a polite smile. “Obviously.”

The man took a wad of paper towels and put it on John’s stomach. “Right, then. Looks good. Clean yourself up, those tissues can go in the bin down there, and then we’ll talk through your plans, classes, diet, supplements, those kinds of boring things.”

“Actually,” John said sheepishly, throwing the paper towels in the bin and sitting up on the table. “I need to be somewhere pretty soon. Mind if we reschedule that appointment?”

Dr. Admona paused from gathering his sheets and nodded. “Oh. Of course. Can I have you back in, say, a week, two weeks?”

“Two weeks,” John requested. “Actually, a weekend may be better for me. Not this weekend, the weekend after.”

It was done. He put a reminder in his phone for the afternoon and then went on his way, hating that the warm weather meant he couldn’t hide his chin in his coat.

He went past the health centre on his way home and looked in the window. He didn’t see anything about job vacancies – which, he supposed, was lucky, because they’d hate him for applying for a job five months before he had to go on maternity leave. Trying not to resent the child inside him, he very consciously _didn’t_ sigh as he turned around and went home.

When he walked through the door, his landline phone was ringing. He almost didn’t answer it, because who could possibly be calling him, but it was right there as he was taking his shoes off, so he huffed and answered the call anyway.

“Hello?”

“John Watson?”

“Speaking.”

“This is DI Gregory Lestrade, I conducted the interview with you the other day. I’ve got some follow-up questions to ask you, and I’ve been given a request to search your home again to ensure its security.”

John rolled his eyes. “Who requested that?”

“My…” Lestrade paused. “My colleague.”

“The guy from the other day,” John said. He thought about the piercing eyes and the frowny mouth.

“Yes,” the inspector answered. “Is there any time you’re free for me and my colleague to come over?”

“The guy from the other day?” John repeated, a question this time.

“No. He’s not my partner. I’ll be bringing Sergeant Sally Donovan, if you’ll let me.”

John thought for a moment, and then sighed. “Yeah, fine. Um… I’m free tomorrow afternoon.”

“Excellent. We’ll see you then.”

“Bye.”

Despite the conversation and the threat of another police search of his house, the ultrasound was still flashing behind John’s eyelids every time they closed. He went to bed early, and in his dreams the baby grew and grew before his very eyes, grew until he was taller than John, faster than John, stronger than John, and all he could do was sit there and watch as his Colonel Moran, Junior snapped necks with his pinkies. When he fell asleep again, he dreamt that the police shot him with his own firearm.

The next time he woke up, he immediately went to bury his gun, in its towel, in the garden.

The police turned out to have routine business. They asked him a few questions to check his story, gave his house a once-over to check his safety, and then let him be. _Call if you hear anything,_ they’d said. John had nodded.

A few days later, John started bleeding. It was just a pink smear, just a tiny drip when he wiped after using the toilet one day. He ignored it; bleeding was normal this early, he knew that.

The next morning, he woke up with definite red splotches right the way through to his sheets. He put in one of his heat pads and tried to forget about it – it was hard, with the vague cramps pulling at his insides, but he cooked himself a big lunch and went to watch a film on his own.

The night after that, he woke up at an ungodly hour with a sharp pain in his lower abdomen, and he could feel that something wasn’t right. This time, he didn’t waste a second – even at three o’clock in the morning – in calling the maternity ward at the local hospital. What else was he supposed to do? The health centre wouldn’t be open, and the antenatal clinic wasn’t built for emergencies. He found the number of the hospital in his BPA folder and asked to be transferred to the maternity unit. Much to his dismay, they directed him to A&E. Of course, he had to pay for his own cab there.

He couldn’t help but wonder, as he waited for hours in those hard plastic chairs, whether it was really necessary for him to be in A&E with a bit of light bleeding and a stomach ache. He also wondered, as he watched everyone around him get called in, and every single orderly walk straight past him, why the BPA didn’t have a 24-hour walk-in centre for cases like this. Surely, from the statistics, hundreds of people on this campus alone miscarried every week – he was sure now, after all, that this was a miscarriage. The pains were excruciating and he could feel the blood thickening with its hourly drops down his backside. He hung his head, his hands wrapped around his middle, and tried not to feel like a failure.

They didn’t get to him until well after the sun rose. He’d almost fallen asleep countless times, only to be woken by a stabbing pain, and he very badly needed a cup of coffee that he couldn’t stand up to get. A nurse came to see to him, eventually. She told him he looked a bit pale, and he didn’t have the heart to reply.

“No alpha with you today?” she asked politely, holding onto his arm as she helped him to a bed with an ultrasound machine closeby.

Why was that all anybody ever seemed to ask him? He didn’t answer, but he did make a faint noise of discomfort. She let him sit back in peace.

A radiographer arrived a little while later and, without any smalltalk, set up the scanner.

“Boy or girl?” he asked. John could forgive him for the question, because the machine was taking an exceptionally long time to start up.

“Don’t know,” he ground out, rubbing his eyes.

“Ah. Too early, is it? Never mind. I hope it’s a healthy one.” He offered John a small but empty smile, and John closed his eyes and covered his face in return. “Heads up: this’ll be cool.”

The shirt went up, the gel went on, the wand went down. There were some clicks and pauses of buttons and thinking, and the doctor sighed softly.

“When did you last have a scan?” he asked casually.

John swallowed. “About a week ago.”

“And everything was okay?”

John nodded.

“Did you hear a heartbeat?”

“No,” John said, rubbing his eyes again. “I saw it, though. I could see it moving.”

The wand left his stomach.

“I can’t seem to see a heartbeat today,” the doctor admitted. “No movement at all, actually. I think the lining has started to come away, too, but I can’t be sure. How much are you bleeding?”

John wiped his stomach with the paper towels and pulled his top down. “I don’t know. Not heavily. Few drops a day, one an hour, maybe.”

“And can you feel any clots passing?”

John nodded slowly.

“I think it’s bad news,” the radiographer said, looking at him closely. “It’s a miscarriage. I’m so sorry.”

He slid his hands down his face, staring up at the ceiling. “I thought so.”

“Was this your first pregnancy?”

“Yeah,” John admitted, his voice hollow. He cleared his throat.

“They’re very common for first pregnancies, but not usually this late. Up to twelve weeks, certainly, but even in the eleventh and twelfth weeks, miscarriages are more uncommon.” The doctor scratched his chin as he turned the machine off.

“I know why it was.” John smiled tightly. “Thank you.”

“No, no. Don’t do that. It’s not your fault.”

“I’ve been under a lot of stress. I haven’t been feeling very well. My alpha is… not in the picture. It was my alpha’s fault,” John decided.

The doctor gave a single, piteous laugh. “Yes, then, I suppose it was. I’m truly sorry.”

John shook his head, scrubbing his hand through his hair. “Don’t be. It’s fine. It’s really fine. I just want to go home.”

“Please, at least let me give you these.” The radiographer pulled out two miscarriage leaflets from his pocket. “Just some information about how to deal with this situation, what help you can get, what medical assistance you can have. Call in at any time and you’ll be seen.”

John frowned at them. Clearly the man had had expectations, if he’d been keeping them in his pocket. “Thank you.”

He shoved them straight in his pockets and left, getting another cab home because he couldn’t face the bus. He went back to bed when he finally made it home at nine o’clock. It was only there, in the comfort of his own bedroom, with all of the windows closed and curtains drawn, that he realised what he’d lost. Not just Colonel Moran’s child, not just the spawn of a terrorist that had lied to him through his teeth. John hadn’t just lost a baby, either. He realised, there, on his bed, that he’d just lost his final reason to try and keep going.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure, but... I feel like you guys might love this chapter...

The sweet harmony of Beethoven’s Septet in Eb floating around his head, the musky scent of a freshly ground cup of coffee sitting at the table, the papery texture to the closed case file buzzing under the pads of his fingers. This would be it, in his mind. All he needed. Everything he’d ever need, right here, in this very room, at his fingertips, in his nose, trickling sweetly through his ears. He didn’t even have his eyes open, but still it remained a physical definition of utter perfection.

“Get out.”

“Ah, you’re awake.”

“Get. Out.”

“I wonder how long it would take water to freeze on that tongue, brother.”

“I wonder how long it’s going to take you to leave me alone.”

“You’ve a good few years on that one.”

“God help me.”

“As if God would help you.”

“You’re right. He’d be useless against you.”

“You flatter me.”

“Damn.”

Two cold fingers pushed one of his eyes open. “Sherlock.”

Sherlock slapped the hand away and turned around, curling up so he could squash his face into the back of the sofa. There was a heavy sigh behind him, and then a few threatening steps.

“Don’t!” Sherlock snapped again, sitting up, but it was too late. Mycroft had turned the music off. With a frustrated growl, his head hit the sofa once more.

A second later, those same hard fingers were pinching his ear through his greasy hair and pulling him up from the sofa.

“Mycroft!” Sherlock cried, cheeks tinged pink with thorough embarrassment. One hand tightly gripped the file to his chest and the other clawed at his brother’s pinch, but the hold was firm. “Get off of me, you prick, that _hurts_.”

“That’s rather the point,” Mycroft muttered. He pulled at Sherlock’s ear until he was standing up straight in the middle of the room. Then he waited until his brother was looking at him properly – eye contact and poisonous glare and all – before he spoke again. “Listen to me now, and listen very close.”

“You need stronger gum,” Sherlock muttered, trying to turn his face away.

Mycroft tightened his pinch and pulled Sherlock closer. “Listen. To. Me.”

Sherlock grunted uncomfortably, one hand still hanging from Mycroft’s, but he was finally paying attention.

“You are thirty-three years old. You have your own job, a rented flat, and several possessions and habits of questionable legality that, for reasons still unbeknownst to me, are overlooked by authority from New Scotland Yard. You have somehow managed to feed and clothe yourself appropriately on your own for ten years now, and, God help me, you will remain taking proper care of yourself for the foreseeable future. Sebastian Moran is no longer your concern and I am _taking_ the _file._ Today,” Mycroft hissed.

Sherlock’s free hand instantly went to cling to his folder. He held onto it with both hands as Mycroft’s single empty one grabbed an edge and gave a sharp tug. Sherlock held on, wincing as it jolted his head and pulled at his ear.

“Fuck _off_ ,” Sherlock snapped, trying to twist and turn away.

“Give it to me,” Mycroft said firmly, and he held tighter still onto Sherlock’s ear as he gave another yank on the file. Sherlock’s fingers twitched at the hot pain that flared in his ear (and the gentle tug on his hair that came with it) and Mycroft was there instantly, sliding the folder from his hands and holding it behind his back.

“Mycroft!” Sherlock shouted. Even as the hand lifted from his throbbing ear, he resisted the urge to hold it and rub it in favour of grabbing at his papers, but Mycroft always had been bigger than him. “You don’t even need it! You could get a copy from anywhere.”

“Yes, but I want _this_ one.” Mycroft kept Sherlock’s hands held at the wrist as he gave him a pleasant smile. “Thank you very much. Now go and wash that disgusting growth on the top of your head.”

“It’s called hair,” Sherlock said fiercely, pulling his hands away and storming towards the bathroom. “Not that you’d know.”

As soon as he slammed the bathroom door behind him, he heard his music come back on. The bastard would pay for stealing that file.

It took Sherlock a long time to shower properly. Once he’d begun to accept the grime covering his entire body and started scrubbing, he’d found it difficult to stop. Perfectionism got the better of him in the end, and after half an hour of easing the grit and grease from each separate nook and cranny in his body, he called his barber and offered double pay for an emergency house call. The man could do wonders with the wet mop sat on Sherlock’s hair, so he hadn’t bothered to attempt to shampoo it in preparation.

Sherlock was settled in his dressing gown, on his armchair, quietly enjoying the gentle hands combing and trimming his hair as he thought about his latest issue. He wasn’t sure what to consider it as, because, though it was the Moriarty predicament as a whole, his main concern was Sebastian Moran. As far as his lacking research could tell him, the one constant in criminal mastermind James Moriarty’s life was his right-hand man, chief of staff, most capable minion: Sebastian Moran. Sherlock had never managed to lay a single eye, not even indirectly, at Moriarty, but he’d had several glimpses of Moran. Enough to get down some solid facts.

_Alpha_ , he recalled easily. Tall, lean, built. In just the few looks he’d had, it had been clear that the man had immense muscle power. Sherlock, in his stale heart of hearts, was jealous, horribly so. _Ex-military_ , his mind continued speedily. A perceived lack of empathy was disputed only by his long-term connection to Moriarty. Their _bond,_ Sherlock reminded himself. Somehow, the word always fizzed on his tongue and gave his mouth a sour taste. The man was also excellent in hand-to-hand combat, innately charming, and had bloody good aim.

These few pointers Sherlock had gathered after almost a year of work. He’d already spent a year chasing invisible clues and following deadly trails, and he only had a list of traits ten points long to show for it. One look at anyone and he could reel off a whole life story; three looks at Sebastian Moran and he still felt blind. Moriarty was proving harder to find than he’d thought, and now Mycroft had stepped in and kicked him off. Well, technically he’d stepped in months ago, but today he’d finally managed to physically wrangle the case file from his very hands, so Sherlock had no doubt that some sort of surveillance would now be keeping him in line.

His barber had been and gone and he felt much better. In his most comfortable suit, with his hair neat and his nails cut, he reached into the drawer on his bedside table and hooked out the dog tags. Squinting, he peered at them, watching the chain spin under his fingers. _WATSON, JOHN H_ , they said. _DOB 07081979_. He’d taken them for a case, that was all. He’d needed a convincing disguise and dog tags were the clincher, but he hadn’t really thought so far ahead as to how he’d return them. He hadn’t intended to, he didn’t think, but… this _Watson, John H_ was the last clue he had to tracking down Moran and, vis a vis, Moriarty. He didn’t even remember what the man looked like, but he couldn’t be that hard to track down if they’d done it once before.

He fired off a text to DI Lestrade and opened up his laptop.

_Need the address of one Watson, John H. SH_

He tucked his phone into his pocket, never expecting a reply within two hours from the inspector, and found his way to the website of the British Procreation Association, London. He didn’t know why they called it London, really, when it was on the outskirts of even the most rural towns that Greater London had to offer, but stupidity seemed to know no bounds. He didn’t remember the faintest thing about John Watson, and he only remembered the name from the identity discs he read and used so regularly, so he typed the name into the search bar. No results – no _useful_ results, anyway. He learnt of a Jude Watson in charge of the health committee, a Rodney Watson of the administration department who would be retiring this year, and a John Partridge that was accepting donations towards his next IVF cycle on the community forum. Sherlock shuddered at the thought.

He decided to call in, then, instead. He got his phone out and dialled the listed number for the administration centre, deciding on a persona as the line hummed.

“Good evening, this is the BPA London administration centre, can I help you?” A kind lady had picked up. Sherlock thought she sounded like she was smiling, and he wondered what sort of note had just been placed in front of her.

“Yes, hello,” he said, forcing his own smile into a gruff voice. “I just—sorry, I’m not sure if this is allowed. My name’s Watson, and my son’s been involved in your programme for a good few years. I was wondering if you could find me his address, or perhaps his current phone number?”

“I’m afraid we don’t give out the details of our volunteers.” Her smile had gone, and Sherlock could hear her click a pen. He waited a second for her to finish writing her note of reply before he spoke.

“But I’m his dad,” he laughed heartily. “I’ve been travelling. I don’t have his details anymore, and I’d really love to know how he’s getting on. Could you at least tell me how he’s getting on?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything, sir. I could pass you onto an operative and they could search through the database, though, if you like. I can’t allow you to have any personal information, but you can find out if he’s still on the programme or not. Bear in mind that the database can stretch across all of Britain if the searches aren’t filtered.”

“Yes, perfect, that’s fine. Thank you. That’d be great.” Sherlock smiled and got himself a pen.

“Okay, I’ll put you through. One moment, sir.” She put the phone down and he heard it connecting him again.

“Good evening, external enquiries London, how can I help you?” It was a man this time, sounding definitely bored. Sherlock supposed he would get to go home soon – he’d make this easy for the guy, he decided.

“Alright, mate,” he said warmly. “Just need a bit of a help with someone I know. John H Watson. Need his address for a birthday card.”

“I’m afraid we don’t give out personal details to those outside of the association over the phone, sir,” the man said monotonously, “but can I help you with anything else?”

Sherlock scoffed. “What, none at all? Come on, mate. Look, I’m his dad, aren’t I? I’m useless at shite like this. Was the best I could do to dig him up a card. Gotta keep in his good books, you know?”

The man sighed. “Yes, sir, but I can’t go dishing out everyone’s addresses all the time. Especially not on the phone.”

“What am I gonna do with it?” Sherlock murmured, laughing softly. “He’s got fuck all, far as I can tell. Check your database, bet he’s not even got a job. Hadn’t, last I heard. Just want to send him a card. My own boy. Please.”

There was another heavy sigh. He could almost hear the man rubbing his eye. “What did you say his name was?”

“Watson,” Sherlock said, sitting forwards and clicking his pen. “John H Watson.”

A stiff grunt huffed its way down the line, followed by some taps of a keyboard. Sherlock suddenly had the thought that perhaps he wouldn’t be on the database as a current resident anymore, because, well, he’d kind of destroyed most of the man’s life, now that he thought about it. Not everyone had the strength to stick around. But, soon enough: “Got him.”

Sherlock scrawled the address on the back of an envelope, thanked the idiot, and rang off as soon as he could. Then he grabbed his laptop up again and settled in for some quality hacking time with the Yard’s number tracing system. He could have phoned an information line and asked for the number for the address, but this was much more fun.

It was nine o’clock by the time he had all of the details he needed to pay John H Watson a surprise visit. He sat, staring at the clock, for a long time before he decided not to make his way out. It’d take him an hour to get there and then as soon as he arrived he’d have to leave.

Not that he wanted to stay.

Not at _all._

He shivered and shook his head, startled at where his own thoughts were going. Yes, he was curious about what Moran had been like around Watson to make him completely blind to the glaring murderer inside the alpha. Of course, most humans were completely blind to most things anyway, but John was a soldier and a doctor. He should have known what a trained killer looked like – in theory.

He rolled his eyes and swiped his box from the table, going to sit out on the front step. The concrete was cold underneath him, but he hated the smell of stale smoke. Mrs Hudson complained when he lit up inside, and he never understood what she meant until he went out and came back in. The sofa cushions retained every smell known to the human nose – and that was true not only of cigarette smoke, but also the poisonous fumes of various experiments he’d conducted over the years. There was a week he remembered where the sofa had been drenched in Febreeze three times. God, the whole flat had stank of that lovely fresh smell. He hated it.

A buzzing from his pocket brought him out of his reverie.

_Mother hates you smoking. MH_

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He glanced up and over the street, but he couldn’t spot any of the cameras. He supposed he should have known by then, really, which ones were used to look at him when and where, but he just didn’t care enough to remember.

_Hypocrite. SH_

He tipped his head back against the front door and blew the smoke out in a long, billowing cloud of breath. Mycroft had tried to quit again, maybe. Sherlock thought it was about time. He was a crap smoker, anyway.

_What would the doctor say? MH_

Sherlock looked up for the cameras again, this time frowning.

_I don’t believe in doctors. SH_

_You did when you had chicken pox. MH_

_I was a naive child back then. SH_

_You do when you need to know how long a body has been lying still for. MH_

Sherlock snorted in frustration. How did Mycroft always reply so quickly? The last he’d heard, the old man didn’t even know how to use a mobile phone. Sherlock put his phone in his pocket. Mycroft wasn’t making any more attempts to press him, and Sherlock knew exactly why. He was just waiting.

_Mother told me twenty years ago to tell you she knows you’re the reason the biscuits disappeared. SH_

He lit a second cigarette and popped it in next to the first, disappointed in himself for giving in and replying. Instead of another text, however, he received a call. He ignored it out of spite, and then answered the second one he got.

“Hello?” he said innocently, deliberately speaking around the cigarettes.

“Still thirteen years old today, aren’t you?” Mycroft said down the line, and Sherlock could hear the sarcastic smile in his voice.

“Hardly.”

“Seems like it from here,” Mycroft muttered.

Sherlock smirked. Sometimes his brother made this too easy. “Everybody seems thirteen next to you.”

“Ouch.”

“Good. What do you want?”

“I meant to ask you what you were doing searching for John Watson, actually.”

Sherlock blinked. He took a long drag on his cigarettes and blew the smoke out through his nose as he replied.

“Got something of his,” he said after those seconds.

“That all?”

“Yes?” Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

“It’s nothing to do with his connection to Sebastian Moran, then.” Mycroft remained unconvinced, apparently.

“ _Brother_ has forbidden my involvement in the case.” Sherlock pouted.

Mycroft hummed. “How wise of him.”

Sherlock groaned. “I stole his identity discs for a disguise, Mycroft. I was going to return them.”

“With his telephone number.”

“To make sure they arrived.”

Mycroft went quiet for a moment. “Sebastian Moran is a dangerous man, Sherlock,” he said quietly. “I’m serious when I tell you to keep away. I’m handling it.”

“And where _is_ Moriarty, according to the latest government investigation?” Sherlock tapped the ash from his cigarettes, crossing his feet at the ankle.

“None of your business, you brat,” Mycroft sighed. Sherlock heard the click of a lighter.

“Mother hates you smoking,” he mimicked quickly.

Mycroft ignored him, and there was a few seconds’ silence. “Stay away from Moriarty, little brother.”

The line went dead. Sherlock’s head cocked back, insulted at the swift goodbye. He glared in all directions, taking two last drags of his cigarettes, before stamping them out on the pavement and going back inside.

He didn’t step out of the door before the next morning, but when he did he kept his trusty box of cigarettes in his coat pocket – and out of Mycroft’s view. He hopped into a cab and made a request for the programme campus. The driver looked unsure of her willingness to go so far away from her general course of the city, but it was obvious that she knew the way, so Sherlock offered her an extra twenty and she agreed with an amused smile.

“Off to meet someone?” she asked politely. He didn’t blame her; it was a long journey and only natural that someone who couldn’t pay attention to his clothes would assume that an alpha was going to breeding grounds to meet an omega.

“Yes,” he said, staring out of the window.

She smiled at him in the rear view mirror. He ignored her.

“Not your first time going, I don’t think,” she mentioned after a minute. They were stuck at traffic lights.

“I’ve been before,” he confirmed. He got his phone out and scrolled mindlessly.

“Got a relative there?” she asked casually.

“No.”

“Oh.” She frowned a little at his lack of enthusiasm for smalltalk, but kept going anyway. “Got a nice omega waiting for you there?”

He looked up and caught her eye in the mirror, startled at the accusation. “N… no,” he said, shaking his head.

“Alright.” She smiled and shrugged. “Just wondered.”

“I’m on an investigation. I’m a detective.” Sherlock squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, and the woman had that look on her face that everyone else got just before they said—

“God, you look just like one of those pigeons that ruffles their neck feathers up and does a little dance for the lady pigeon,” she teased fondly.

No, they didn’t really say it like _that_ very often. He blushed and looked down at his phone again, going instead to glance over the BBC News website.

“I’m joking,” she said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… Yeah, I was just joking. I’ll shut up.”

Sherlock didn’t look up again. He remained silent for the rest of the journey, ignoring her noisy exhales when they missed lights and her muttered musings about which direction to go in when they got to junctions. She worked it out on her own eventually.

“Hope you get your case all sorted,” she said as she accepted her payment. He nodded and turned away without a smile. _God,_ he hated people.

Antsy after all the time spent cooped up in the car, Sherlock walked fast. The campus was large, including the streets on the outskirts of the ‘town’ that had the biggest gardens for the biggest houses. His eyes flickered everywhere, noticing all of the street names, signposts, shops, people. Mostly omegas, in his opinion. Most of the scents he caught of people walking by were those of omegas. He wasn’t really surprised – alphas tended to have personalities that would have shrivelled up and died of shame had they been reduced to admitting they couldn’t charm their own omega. He knew because he had one himself. Though, his situation was vastly different, because he’d never wanted an omega to begin with.

He looked up and realised he was at number 83. He rolled his eyes and turned around. John Watson lived at number 13, and he’d walked straight past the damn thing in his thoughts.

Before walking through the unkempt front garden, however, he turned and went to the neighbour’s house instead, hammering on that door and stepping back.

It opened to reveal a woman about his age, perhaps a few years older. She smiled politely through the small crack she held open. “Oh. Hello.”

Sherlock grinned at her, swaying from foot to foot. “Hiya. I’m so sorry, I just need to ask you something quickly – have you seen my mate coming and going from this house? I mean, ever. Anybody new in the last few years.”

“Your mate?” She frowned, and Sherlock heard a dog bark and scratch at the door. She tried to shove it away with her foot. “I… didn’t think he had a mate.”

“Oh.” Sherlock shook his head. “No, no, no. I’m sorry, I mean a friend. My friend, he’s tall, got blonde hair. Alpha. He was definitely here a lot in springtime, about March this year?”

She hummed for a second and shook her head. “I think I know the one you’re talking about, but no, I haven’t seen him in months. John’s never said a word about him to me, either.”

“Damn,” Sherlock said, laughing softly. He glanced at John’s door. “Just wondered if I could find him here. Never mind. Just one more thing… When you did see him, what did you think of him? Did he look… alright?”

She blinked. “Pardon?”

Sherlock sighed. He rubbed his forehead. “I, um. He wasn’t… he hasn’t been well. Used to have some real problems. I thought he was alright but I just recently found out he wasn’t doing that great at all at the start of this year. I just… did you notice anything about him? Did he look _good_? Nice, kind, happy?”

She smiled. “I’m afraid I really don’t know. I only saw him a couple of times, he looked fine. That’s all I can tell you. I’m so sorry.”

Sherlock shook his head and scratched the back of his neck. “No, that’s fine. Great. Thank you so much, I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“No problem. Hope he’s alright.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Sherlock gave her one last bright smile and turned around, shaking it off with his shoulders. He went around to the other neighbouring house but got no answer from them, and so gave in and went up the broken path to the scuffed white door. He rapped firmly and stepped back, waiting.

Then, after a minute, he stepped forward and knocked again.

No answer.

His heart jumped. What if Sebastian Moran had gotten in? What if he’d finally come for him? Or, _or_ , what if James Moriarty had finally been overtaken by his jealousy and broken in and _murdered him_? Sherlock, a massively inappropriate grin on his face, grabbed two tools from his pocket and jammed them in the lock, wiggling and sliding them until it slid open. He let himself in and closed the door quietly behind him, and then took a second to listen, which he thought was very mature of him, as opposed to blundering in as he usually did. He heard nothing. With gentle steps, he made his way around the bungalow, first sticking his head around the door to the dusty living room, then the grey bathroom, and glancing around the empty kitchen. Eventually he stood at the closed door to the bedroom.

Struggling to contain himself, he put his hand on the doorknob and twisted gently, pushing it open. By now, he was genuinely expecting to find a bloodied body lying in the middle of the bed.

He was sorely disappointed to see the meek room completely empty. The bed was made perfectly, with straight white sheets and four flat pillows, and the chest of drawers had gathered dust. There was a lamp on each bedside table, and an alarm clock telling Sherlock which side of the bed the man kept to when he slept, though both of the surfaces were dusty.

Sherlock took the chain from his pocket and prepared to drop it on the bedside table, but he paused before the metal touched the wood. He stood up straight and had another look around the bungalow, taking in the dust that had settled everywhere. He snooped around the living room and searched for a TV remote, which had dust settled on its back where it was lying face-down on the coffee table. The newspapers on the table were from the beginning of the week before. In the kitchen, the sides were clear of dust and there was food in the fridge, even if it wasn’t very well-stocked. Sherlock relaxed slightly in the knowledge that _WATSON, JOHN H_ at least didn’t seem to have committed suicide in the last few months.

He, once again, considered leaving the tags in their place and leaving. Only then, he realised, he wouldn’t get the chance to ask any more questions – and he wanted to ask more questions. Desperately. John was the last source of input he had on the whole case, and he was going to take what he could get if he had to wait a week.

He turned around, sauntering hesitantly back to the pavement. Before he could decide what to do, his phone chimed in his coat pocket, and he pulled it out to find a text from Lestrade – finally.

_Can't get it for you now. Busy. Had an influx today, victims all look the same – want to help? GL_

Sherlock grinned down at his phone. He could hardly refrain from punching the air. A trail of killings all in one day: glorious. Fast, stimulating, and glorious. His back to the omega's forgotten door, he skipped back to the main road to find a minicab office.

_What do the victims look like? SH_

This time, the response was quick. Sherlock smirked at the satisfaction of being needed by the police.

_All white males. Shortish in height, short blonde hair, blue eyes. GL_

Sherlock hummed. The first thing that came to mind was Hitler, in all honesty, but from there his brainstorm grew, and not once did he at all recall the spitting image of John Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I put out a call on Tumblr, but haven't had any takers so far. I'm looking for a beta reader(s?) - see [this post](http://theandersaur.tumblr.com/post/159690384129/seeking-beta-reader) for details. If you don't have Tumblr and you're interested, just drop me an anonymous message [right here](http://theandersaur.tumblr.com/ask) with your email address and I'll contact you back. Someone help? :D

**Author's Note:**

> You can also follow [my blog on Tumblr](http://theandersaur.tumblr.com) for a couple more bits, maybe one or two teensy sneak peeks now and then.


End file.
